


Chuck vs. the Wildcat

by dettiot



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-11-04 10:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 65,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the 1870s in the American Southwest.  Charles “Chuck” Bartowski, after avenging the death of his sister, has fallen in with gunslinger John Casey.  There’s a range war in El Dorado, and Chuck finds himself on one side of the war.  And on that side is a woman named Sarah Walker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Sunshine and In Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by the Western movie El Dorado. No knowledge of that movie is needed to enjoy this fic. And I hope you enjoy it!

For five years, he had been hunting for the three men who had killed his sister. He had come home to find Ellie’s blood splattered all over the porch, and the three men that did it standing over her. They were dirty and scrawny, still drunk from the night before when they had been looking for food and lodgings at the inn that Ellie and he ran. He had turned them down, doubting they had the money for the rooms. Angry words had been exchanged, and it had taken him pulling his knife, and the muscles of Ellie’s fiancee, to scare them off. 

His sister’s death had changed the life of Charles Irving Bartowski, known as Chuck. He had caught up with two of the men already, and tonight . . . tonight, he’d finish this.

He adjusted the hat that had been his father’s, pushing it down on his curls, and walked into the saloon. He hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his trousers, taking in the room. There were several tables, filled with whites and Mexicans eating food, playing poker or dominoes, or listening to the mariachi music. And at the table right by the door was the man he was looking for. 

Chuck swallowed and stepped up to the table. “Justin Sullivan.” 

The thin, squirrelly-looking man looked up. “What? You talking to me?”

“I am,” Chuck said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a golden, heart-shaped locket. “Do you recognize this?”

“What you saying about me, thinkin’ I’d recognize a trinket like that?” Justin looked at his buddies, who laughed as if on cue. 

Chuck waited out their laughter, his face deadly serious. “You killed the woman wearin’ it.”

That silenced the restaurant. The band stopped playing, and he noticed a few ladies being shooed out of the room. 

“Happened in California, out near San Diego Bay. Her name was Ellie Faye Bartowski, and you and two of your buddies, you attacked her. An innocent woman. She fought, but she couldn’t take three grown men,” Chuck said, his eyes locked on Justin’s. “And it wasn’t even for money. You just killed her for fun.”

“She was an old hag,” Justin spit out. “Thought she was somethin’, with her big boat . . .”

“No, no, she was beautiful. Beautiful and young, with her whole life in front of her,” Chuck said, his blood boiling at the insults. “So you remember her. The other fellows did, too, eventually.” He tucked the necklace back into his pocket. “Now stand up.”

Justin looked confused. He looked at the man to his right, a black man with an air of command about him. “Stand up, Justin. He doesn’t have a gun. And after all, it shouldn’t have taken three of you.”

Chuck felt his palms sweat a little, but he stood very still, waiting for Justin to stand. The other man slowly rose to his feet, facing Chuck with a smirk on his face. 

Justin suddenly reached for his gun, but Chuck was faster. With lightning-fast relaxes, he whipped his knife from the holder on his back, throwing it at Justin. It struck him dead in the chest, and with a soft gurgle, he dropped to the floor.

And with that, Chuck felt a numbness settle over him. He’d done it. He’d avenged Ellie’s death. He walked over to Justin, whose face was frozen in a wide-eyed mask, and crouched down to pull out his knife. 

“Hey, you.”

Chuck turned a little, still kneeling by the body.

A middle-aged, hard-looking man stood there. “You killed Justin because he killed your friend, right? Well, Justin was a good friend of mine.”

Chuck felt a chill go down his spine. 

“Let’s see if you can do that trick twice!” the stranger cried, reaching for his gun. 

Before Chuck could even lift his knife, a gunshot rang out, knocking the gun out of the stranger’s hand. He turned his head and saw a bear of a man rising to his feet, his gun out. 

“I’d let it go,” the bear said in a deep voice. He reached down and roughly pulled Chuck to his feet. 

The black man gestured to Justin’s friend. “Clyde, stand down.”

Clyde glared at the black man. “Got a lot of faith in me, huh, Ty?”

Ty shrugged elegantly. “Faith can’t beat a faster draw.” He looked at the stranger who had rescued Chuck. “Only man I’ve ever seen who could draw down faster than me. You wouldn’t happen to be John Casey, would you?”

The only answer he got was a grunt. Ty nodded. “Thought so.” He looked at Chuck, then at John Casey. “I can’t afford to lose any more men. I’ve got a job in El Dorado, and I guaranteed a certain number of ranch hands.”

Casey nodded. “We’ll move out. Enjoy your meal.” He holstered his gun and dragged Chuck out onto the dusty, dimly-lit street. 

Chuck swallowed. “I--I need to thank you.”

“You know anyplace to eat around here?”

“Huh?” Chuck asked, shaking his head. He felt unsteady, between finishing his five-year plan and the adrenaline from nearly dying. He didn’t know what he was going to do now, and this stranger didn’t seem like somebody who could give him answers. 

“Your little show interrupted my dinner. And neither of us are welcome there now. So, you got any bright ideas?” 

On the list of the worst ideas that Chuck had ever heard, keeping this man from food was high on the list. “Uh . . . I ate at a cantina down the street earlier.”

Casey went to the hitching post and took the reins of a spotted pinto that was just as large as its rider. “Let’s go, then.”

Chuck nodded and quickly unhitched his own horse, leading the way. The cantina was deserted now, but the Mexican woman who ran it quickly cooked up a mess of food for them. 

He sipped some coffee, watching Casey devour the food. What would he do now? He knew that going after her murderers was probably the last thing that Ellie would have wanted him to do. But he couldn’t be like Devon, accepting that her killers would never see justice. 

“What’s your name, kid?”

Chuck looked at Casey. “Charles Irving Bartowski.”

“Holy Christ,” Casey said. 

“Yeah, I know,” Chuck said with a grin. “Most people call me Chuck.”

Casey nodded. “Sister, mother or wife?”

His confusion must have shown, because Casey clarified. “The woman that those guys killed. Sister, mother or wife?”

“Oh. My sister.”

“Thought so,” Casey grunted. “What are you gonna do now?”

Chuck shrugged. “Don’t know. Spent five years hunting down her killers, and now . . .”

“Gonna go back to California?”

“There’s nothing for me there,” he said. 

“Then lemme give you two pieces of advice, kid,” Casey said. “Get rid of the curls, learn how to shoot a gun.”

“Only way to get rid of the curls is to shave my head. It’s not a good look on me.”

Casey grunted. “And the gun?”

“Ellie--my sister--she didn’t hold with guns,” Chuck said. “It was all I could do to get her to allow me learning how to throw knives.”

“She’s dead,” Casey said. “Think about that.” 

Chuck looked at Casey, his eyes narrowed. “I’m fine with the knives.”

Casey grunted. That seemed to be his default reply. “Your funeral, kid.” He picked up his battered cowboy hat and left some money on the table. “Good luck to you.” 

“You--where are you off to?” Chuck found himself asking.

“Gonna check in with a friend of mine. Sheriff in El Dorado,” Casey said. The tone of his voice brooked no questions, but Chuck got the sense that there was a long history between Casey and his friend. One that was complicated. He wondered if it had anything to do with that man from before--Ty, his name was--saying he had a job in El Dorado.

“You wouldn’t want some company, would you?” He wasn’t sure why he was asking to go along, but . . . but he didn’t know what else to do.

“Nope,” Casey said succinctly. He set his hat on his head and strode out into the night.

Chuck slumped down in his chair. Now he really didn’t know what he was going to do. 

Then, an idea came into his head. Sitting up, he quickly thanked the woman who ran the cantina, leaving her some extra money. He crammed his hat on his head and stepped out into the dark. 

XXX

Chuck navigated his horse, which he had named Newton, over the rocky slopes. He had picked up Casey’s trail this morning, keeping back so he wouldn’t be spotted. He lost sight of him when Casey got a bit ahead of him, and Chuck picked up the pace a little. When he crested a hill and looked down into a small valley, he saw Casey laying on the ground. 

What had happened to him?

“Casey ! John Casey!” he yelled, hoping that he wasn’t dead. 

Even before the words were out of his mouth, Casey was slowly coming to his feet. “What the hell? You about lost your head!”

Chuck hurried his horse as fast as prudence allowed down into the valley. When he reached Casey, the other man glared at him. 

“You should know better’n followin’ a man.”

“I do now,” Chuck said. “Hey, did you fall off your horse?”

“Yeah,” Casey said testily, as if warning Chuck not to ask. But he ignored the warning.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Casey fussed with the reins of his horse, his movements stiff. 

“Something’s not right with you, though,” Chuck said, not sure why he was pushing this man who could kill him without breaking a sweat. 

Casey shrugged. “I’ve got a bullet in my back. Sometimes it pushes against somethin’, and I get this pain and then nothing and I can’t use my right hand.”

Oh. Casey used his right hand to shoot a gun. And he was a gunslinger. That had to be worrying for him. No wonder he was so gruff.

“What are you doin’ following me?” Casey asked, pinning Chuck with his eyes.

Chuck rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I didn’t have anything to do, and . . . and you, you said you were going to visit your friend, but it seemed that there was something going on, and . . .” 

Casey rolled his eyes. “Damn do-gooder.”

“Yeah, that’s me--I save cats from trees and help little old ladies cross busy streets.” Chuck pushed his hat back. “At least let me help you get to El Dorado.”

“Fine,” Casey said. “But if you’re comin’ along, we’re gonna stop and see a guy about getting you a gun. I’m not riding with anyone who’s not packing.”

Chuck swallowed. “Okay.”

“You okay, kid? Look a bit green around the gills.”

He looked at Casey, a man who radiated confidence and self-assurance. What was it like to be like that? To not have doubt and worries?

“Yeah . . . yeah, I’m fine. I--I was brought up by my sister. Our parents took off when we were young. She gave up her own dreams, put off her marriage, in order to make enough money to send me to school. She . . . she thought education was important. And if she hadn’t . . . if she hadn’t died, I’d be a scientist right now.” 

Chuck wasn’t sure why he had told that to Casey. Maybe he wanted the other man to realize that he wasn’t some kind of screw-up. That he had skills. 

Casey nodded. “But you ain’t a scientist. You need to figure out what you’re gonna do now. C’mon.” Casey climbed on his horse, moving less stiffly than before. 

“Yeah--yeah.” Chuck climbed onto his horse and followed Casey.

XXX

Chuck shifted, trying to get used to the gun belt sitting low on his hips, the weight of the gun banging against his right leg. It had more power than he thought he was ready for, but Casey had told him that for a beginner, a sawed-off shotgun was good because “you don’t have to worry about aimin’. Just point and shoot, Bartowski.”

Chuck wasn’t so sure about that, given that he’d blown away a cactus when he was aiming for a bush three feet to the cactus’ left. But Casey had just slapped him on the back and climbed onto his horse, leading them on to El Dorado. 

The town itself seemed like most small towns: a cluster of store buildings spread over a few streets, a church or two, several saloons, and squat-looking houses. Casey walked his horse slowly through the streets, looking around. “Somethin’ ain’t right here.”

Chuck looked at Casey for further explanation. 

“It’s Saturday morning. But look around.” 

He scanned the streets, still not getting it. The streets were quiet--no signs of outlaws or desperadoes. 

Casey grunted. “And you’re supposed to be smart. Town should be full of people. But it ain’t. Means that people don’t feel safe around here.”

“Oh,” Chuck said. That made sense. Ellie had always run errands on Saturdays, going to the general store, the hardware store, places like that, in between visiting with some of her friends. It’d been so long since Chuck had a normal life that he’d forgotten about things like that. 

Casey rode up to a small building, set at one end of the main street. He swung down from his horse, draping the reins over the hitching rail, then walked up to the door of the building, stepping inside. There was a small sign by the door, with the words “D. Beckman, Sheriff” on it.

Chuck followed him, needing a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimly-lit room. A stove was left of center in the room. A large desk was set off against the right side of the room, and a large iron cage with a door ran along the back of the room. 

That tipped him off, more than the gun rack and the thick shutters on the windows. This must be the jail, as well as the sheriff’s office. 

Casey was shaking the hand of a short, bearded man. “Morgan.”

“Good to see you, Casey! Good to have you around, especially with . . . well.” Morgan seemed to deflate. “You’ll see.”

“Yeah. This is Chuck Bartowski. Morgan Grimes, deputy.” 

Chuck reached out and shook Morgan’s hand, too. “Nice to meet you.” 

“You, too! You’re a friend of Casey’s? I didn’t think he had any friends.” 

Casey grunted. “Where’s Beckman?” 

“In the back. Sleeping it off,” Morgan said.

With another grunt, Casey swung open the iron door and went back into the anteroom, an area that the jail’s cells opened onto. Chuck looked at Morgan, who looked sheepishly at Chuck. 

“Things haven’t been great around here since the sheriff . . . well, there’s been some tough times.” 

Whatever else Morgan was going to say was cut off by a commotion from the jail. Both of them turned towards the anteroom, to see Casey wrestling with a small, red-headed woman. Morgan sighed heavily. 

“Great. She woke up mean and hung-over.”

“What?!?” Chuck’s voice hit a higher register than normal. 

Morgan nodded towards the fight. “The sheriff.”

“The sheriff’s a woman?” Chuck asked in shock. He thought women could do most of the things that men did, but he'd been out in the world long enough to know his opinion on women was pretty unusual.

“Her father was a sheriff, her brother’s a sheriff over in Yuma out in the New Mexico Territory, and her husband was the sheriff here. He died about three years ago, and Mrs. Beckman took over. Nobody else could do it; there’s still not a lot of men in these parts due to the War Between the States, you know, and the menfolk that are around, none of them are sheriff material. She was a really good sheriff, too.”

Chuck looked back at the fight. Casey had gotten the upper hand, dumping a large bucket of water over the sheriff’s--Mrs. Beckman’s--head. Now she was collapsed on a cot in the jail anteroom. He spoke quietly to Morgan. “What happened to her?”

Morgan looked over his shoulder, as if checking to see if anyone was listening. “Her son got killed, and she turned to the bottle. He was seventeen--he was gonna be the sheriff in a few years, just like his parents had been. She’s been like this for six months. I’m glad that Casey’s here--they’ve been friends for years. Maybe he can snap her out of this.”

“How did she manage to stay sheriff?”

“Beats me,” Morgan said. “I’ve been doing my best, but I’m not much of a deputy, I admit. And now that there’s a war brewing between the Walkers and Daniel Shaw . . . well, we could use the help.”

Chuck felt like he’d walked into an upper-level chemistry class without knowing anything about science. He shook his head and looked at Casey, who had clomped his way out of the anteroom and over to the desk, slumping down in the chair. 

“You okay, Casey?” Chuck asked. 

He grunted. “Yeah. Just wishin’ I knew a way to sober someone up quick.”

Morgan shrugged. “Dunno. My ma always said a bunch of howlin’ Indians did it for most men, but we don’t have any of those around.” 

Casey shot Morgan a withering look. Chuck hesitantly raised his hand. “I . . . I might know something.”

“You? You don’t strike me as much of a drinker, Bartowski,” Casey said sarcastically.

“I’m not. It was my sister’s recipe.” Chuck searched his memory. “Ipecac . . . cayenne pepper . . . asofetida . . . mustard, the hot kind. And . . . oil of cloves, or--no, croton oil. That was it.”

Morgan’s eyes bugged out. “Whoa. That’s some mixture.”

“Ellie always said it was guaranteed to kill or cure,” Chuck said, feeling the same bittersweet pang when he thought of his sister. 

Casey nodded. “Grimes, you know where you could get that stuff?” 

“General store should have most of it,” he said, picking up a gun. “Chuck, you want to come with me?” 

“Sure,” Chuck said. He rested his hand on his gun, still trying to get used to it. 

“Then go get it. Be careful out there.” 

“You got it, Boss,” Morgan said, giving Casey a thumbs-up gesture. 

XXX

Chuck stirred the ingredients together in a bowl. He looked up as Casey and Morgan came in. “You got the gunpowder, Morgan?”

Casey’s eyebrows went up. “Gunpowder?”

Morgan handed over a small paper packet to Chuck. “Chuck remembered it on the way to the store.”

“We don’t wanna blow her up,” Casey grumbled. 

“I know,” Chuck said. “But it’ll work.” 

“It better,” Casey said. 

Chuck swallowed nervously. Ellie had used this to sober up any guests that got out of line at their inn, and while he had watched her make it several times, he’d never seen the actual recipe for it. He was pretty sure he had the right combination, but . . . well, it couldn’t hurt the sheriff that much. 

“Okay, it’s done,” Chuck said. He took a clay mug and poured some of the black, grainy liquid into it. He took a deep breath and lead the way into the jail anteroom, where Sheriff Beckman was snoring loudly on her cot. 

“If you close her nose, she’ll have to open her mouth to breath,” Morgan said. “Then you can dump it down her throat.” 

Chuck stared at Morgan, wondering how he knew to do that. Casey nudged him. “Go on, Bartowski.” 

Casey held on to the sheriff’s arms, and Morgan laid down on her feet. Chuck took position at the head of the cot, looking down at the sheriff.

She was the least-likely looking sheriff that he’d ever seen. She couldn’t be much taller than five feet, and her body, even with the bloat of booze on her, was thin and frail-looking. Her red hair was tumbled around her shoulders, tangled and stringy. 

“Go on, Chuck,” Casey said. 

“Okay,” Chuck said, squaring his shoulders. He reached out and clamped her nose shut. 

Beckman took a deep breath. After the second one, Chuck tilted the mug over her mouth, pouring the cure down her throat. He took a step back once it was all down, waiting to see what happened. Casey and Morgan stood up, and within a moment, Beckman’s body jerked. 

“Um . . . we better get outta here,” Chuck said, ushering Casey and Morgan out of the anteroom. He took a moment to grab the water bucket, empty since Casey had dumped it over Beckman, and put it on the floor by the cot, near Beckman’s head. 

He slammed the iron grid door behind him as he stepped out of the anteroom. Casey was staring at him. “What the hell kinda thing is that? Your sister wasn’t an embalmer, was she?”

Chuck shook her head. “No, she was a nurse for people who couldn’t afford doctoring. She said that this mixture, it did something to your stomach so you couldn’t handle alcohol.”

“I hope it works,” Morgan said. “We need the sheriff.” 

“That thing between the Walkers and Shaw--it’s flaring up?” Casey asked.

Morgan nodded. “Shaw’s run outta patience. Word is, he’s hired a gunslinger. That’s what Miss Gertrude said, anyway.”

Some kind of look came over Casey’s face. “Gertrude’s still in town?”

“She’s here for good, she says, but she’s left before and come back,” Morgan said with a shrug. “It’s better when she’s here--she runs a good saloon.”

“What thing between the Walkers and Shaw?” Chuck asked.

“Get Grimes to explain it to you. I’m gonna go see a girl.” Casey picked up his cowboy hat and walked out of the jail.

“He knows a girl?” Chuck asked in disbelief.

Morgan snickered. “Casey and Miss Gertrude have been dancing around each other for years. It’s something to see.”

Chuck grinned. “Almost makes me wanna go follow him and see what happens. But I’ve done that once before without his say-so, and it wasn’t pretty. I think I’ve learned my lesson.” He poured himself some coffee and sat down in one of the chairs by the stove, stretching out his legs. 

Sitting down in the chair on the other side of the stove, Morgan leaned back on two legs. “Not that they’re gonna have much time for flirting with everything going on.”

“That’s not the first time you mentioned bad things happening,” Chuck said. 

Morgan blew out a breath. “Yeah. It’s affecting the whole town. See, the Walkers have been here since before there was an El Dorado--back when there was just coyotes and Indians. Mr. Walker’s a widower, and he brought up his five kids by himself. Four kids, now, with Luke dyin’ last year. They’ve got a big spread west of town, lots of cattle and everything.”

“Okay . . . and there’s another guy who doesn’t like Mr. Walker or something?” Chuck asked.

“Daniel Shaw.” Morgan made a face. “Some pretty boy from back East. He came out here about ten years ago, just after the War, and started buying up land. He’s got pretty much all the good bits around town, and he wants to keep growing. But he can’t, because he needs more water.”

“Lemme guess,” Chuck said. “The Walkers have the water.”

“Yep. And since things are looking up for them after a lot of hard years, Mr. Walker doesn’t have any plans to sell. Shaw’s been leaning on him for about a year, offering a lot of money, trying to make deals. He’s even offered to marry Mr. Walker’s only daughter.” Morgan shuddered. “Shaw really wants that water.”

Chuck frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Sarah Walker is better known as Wildcat Walker around here,” Morgan said. “She grew up acting like one of her brothers. I don’t even think she knows she’s a girl.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with not acting like a girl,” Chuck said. 

Morgan looked at him curiously, and Chuck shrugged. “My sister brought me up. She taught me that women oughta have the same kind of choices that men do. She used to say to me, ‘Someday, Chuck, women will vote and own property and be doctors and do whatever they want, just like a man does.’” Chuck grew quiet for a moment. “She was a lot braver than most men I’ve met.”

“I’m real sorry for your loss, Chuck,” Morgan said, looking sympathetic. 

Chuck took a deep breath. “Thanks. Now that I’m finished dealing with the men who killed her, it’s like I’m missing her all over again.”

“It was like that with my pa,” Morgan said. “Cattle rustlers got him. Sheriff Beckman--Mr. Beckman, I mean--he arrested them and got ‘em hung. But after that happened, it was like, I knew my pa was really gone.”

“Yeah,” Chuck said softly. 

There wasn’t much more you could say after that, Chuck thought. So he slouched down in his chair and drank his coffee silently.

XXX

Casey came back a few hours later, his face flushed. Whether it was from liquor or loving, Chuck didn’t know--and he didn’t want to know. They were talking about getting some dinner when the door that separated the jail anteroom from the sheriff’s office swung open, and Sheriff Diane Beckman swayed out. 

“Casey, you’re lucky I didn’t shoot you,” she said, her voice full of annoyance.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, grinning a little as he sipped a cup of coffee. “Want some coffee?”

“No,” she snapped. “I want a drink.”

“That--that’s not really a good idea, Mrs.--I mean, Sheriff! Sheriff Beckman.”

The sheriff wheeled around slowly and squinted at Chuck. “Who the hell are you?”

“Charles Irving Bartowski, Sheriff. Most people call me Chuck.” He held his hand out to her, but she ignored it in order to turn towards her desk and start going through the drawers.

“Whatcha looking for, Diane?” Casey said, a devilish lilt in his voice. 

“Whatta think I’m lookin’ for?” she said under her breath. 

“Whiskey?” Casey asked. “You can stop lookin’. I had Grimes throw it all away.” 

Beckman gave Casey a glare that, Chuck was sure, was very fearful when it was at full strength and not done by a pair of bloodshot eyes. 

“Fine,” she muttered. “Go out and get some myself. Need it. All crawlin’ inside.” She fumbled around, pulling on a gun belt. 

Chuck’s eyes bugged out. Casey was going to let her go out, still half-drunk, and armed to boot? 

Casey sighed and moved his feet from where they were perched on the corner of the desk. “Hell, Diane, you can barely walk.”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” she said, sounding rather belligerent to Chuck’s ears. “I know what I can do.” 

“If we’re goin’ out, we can do a patrol. Grimes went out a few minutes ago, but I don’t trust him to see a Mexican in the middle of Veracruz,” Casey said, standing up and grabbing his gun. “Bartowski, keep an eye out. Don’t let anyone in if they’re not us or Grimes.” 

“Um, sure, Casey,” Chuck said. He rushed over and opened the door for Beckman. The woman stopped and stared up at him. 

“Did you do that ‘cause I’m a woman or ‘cause I’m the sheriff?” 

Chuck had spent enough time around women to know that this was a prime example of a trick question. So he took a deep breath and said, “‘Cause you’re the sheriff, ma’am?”

Beckman nodded. “Good answer, whoever-the-hell-you-are.” With that, she ambled out of the jail, followed by a smirking Casey.

He swallowed and quickly closed the door, locking it behind them. He looked around, wondering what he was supposed to do now. Hesitantly, he eased open the shutters over one of the front windows, allowing a crack to look out through. He wondered if he should draw his gun, but it would probably be better to keep it in the holster. 

So here he was. For now, he had something to do, something to keep himself busy while he figured out what would come next for him. He knew that Ellie would want him to go back to school, maybe even go back East and get a college degree. But where would the money come for that? Plus, Chuck wasn’t sure that was what he wanted. 

He had liked school plenty. There was an order to it all, a tidiness that he had liked. But he’d spent the last five years seeing how life had very little order to it, and going back into the cocoon would be a step back. 

Chuck peered through the gap in the shutters, staying focused even as his mind kept working. For now, he’d found something that he could do, a way to be useful. Casey might have sneered at him being a do-gooder, but Chuck thought there wasn’t anything wrong with that. Maybe being a lawman was a way to keep being a do-gooder. And maybe that way he’d be able to atone for the blood on his hands.

End, Chapter One


	2. He Met a Pilgrim Shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter titles come from the poem Eldorado, written by Edgar Allan Poe.

Four days went by and Chuck could feel the tension growing within the town. Everyone was talking about the war between the Walkers and Daniel Shaw. Casey organized nightly patrols, walking the streets to make sure the town stayed safe.

The day after Casey and Chuck arrived in El Dorado, Ty Bennett and his men rode into town to join Daniel Shaw. Morgan, who was a living grapevine, told Chuck about Bennett. He had served in a black regiment during the War, and then had been a Buffalo soldier. "But something happened-no one really knows what-and he got kicked out. Then he started working as a gunslinger, traveling all over. He's really good. As good as Casey."

"That's what Bennett said," Chuck said, standing with Morgan on the small front porch of the sheriff's office as twilight fell over El Dorado. "That he'd never seen anyone as fast as he is, until he saw Casey."

"Good thing, too," Morgan said, sounding a bit glum. "With how the sheriff's doing . . ."

Chuck winced. Sheriff Beckman hadn't taken kindly to the sobering cure. Even though he had warned her, she insisted on drinking. Even though it always lead to her getting sick, she kept throwing back whiskey.

"She's gotta figure it out," Chuck said, trying to be optimistic. "I've told her that drinking leads to puking, and she can see it for herself. She's just stubborn."

"That's putting it mildly," Morgan said. "She's famous for how mule-headed she is."

"Well, we've just gotta wait her out."

Morgan looked dubious. Chuck shrugged his shoulders and turned to watch the dusty streets.

"At least we've got you and Casey to help with patrols," Morgan said. "Makes it a lot easier. And the word's gettin' out that the sheriff has help."

"Yeah?" Chuck asked.

The bearded man nodded. "Oh, yeah. I mean, between me and Miss Gertrude, everyone knows what's going on. Everyone feels better knowin' that John Casey's here to help. And you, too, Chuck, of course."

"Oh, is that so?" Chuck asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Well, most people, they think you're really young. And pretty green. But I told 'em about how good you are with a knife, and that you're the one soberin' up the sheriff, and they got more positive."

He sighed as Morgan turned and stepped into the jail. Everything Morgan said was right. He was young and green, at least compared to Casey who radiated confidence and know-how. Even Morgan knew more about keeping the peace than he did. Chuck had asked Casey for help, for advice, but he'd brushed him off. Told him to practice shooting and the rest would come if he kept his eyes open and his mouth shut.

Chuck squared his shoulders. He knew that there was some truth in what Casey said. He just had to get more observant. He'd have to start looking at things more carefully.

Morgan came out, fastening his gun belt tighter around his waist. "Casey said you and me should do the first sweep."

"Right, buddy," Chuck said. He reached into the office and got his hat, mashing it down on his head.

"You need a bigger hat, Chuck," Morgan said.

"I know," he said, looking down at Morgan. "But this hat was my dad's. He left it behind when he went after my mother."

Morgan nodded, not needing any more explanation. As they stepped off the porch and started walking, Chuck had to admit he was grateful for finding a friend like Morgan.

XXX

Chuck followed Morgan into the jail after their patrol, taking a seat in one of the chairs by the stove. Casey was sitting at the sheriff's desk, one of his guns spread out in front of him as he cleaned it. He spent most of his free time cleaning his guns. And if he wasn't cleaning a gun, he was eating.

Miss Gertrude stopped by pretty much every day, bringing a basket of food for them all. Although so far, no one but Casey had gotten much of the food. Morgan assured Chuck that this was no great loss, as Miss Gertrude and her cook were both "awful-really awful. But no one goes to Miss Gertrude's for the food. They go for other things. Like the liquor, and seeing how she treats drunks."

Once he met Miss Gertrude, Chuck understood what Morgan had been talking about. She was tall, imposing, and downright intimidating. She was tough as nails and very savvy, and she seemed like the perfect match for Casey. Neither of them were the sentimental type, and whenever they were together, Chuck just sat back and watched. He was afraid if he said anything or made himself obvious, one of them would shoot him.

It was almost fun to see Casey straighten up when Miss Gertrude came into the jail. Casey was already very manly, but whenever Miss Gertrude was present, he became an even manlier man. His voice got deeper, he stood up straighter, and Chuck was convinced his muscles got bigger.

Watching them together, it made Chuck feel a bit wistful. The story of his life seemed to be watching other happy couples. First Ellie and her fiancee, then the couples he'd seen on his travels, and now Casey and Miss Gertrude. The closest he'd come to romance was watching Jill Roberts in church, but she had never noticed him.

Was he ever going to find love himself?

"Look alive, Bartowski."

At the sound of Miss Gertrude's voice, Chuck looked up and saw her holding a basket of food. "Got some sandwiches here, if you're interested."

How could anyone screw up a sandwich? Chuck nodded and took one, only to discover that it was possible to not get a sandwich right. But somehow, he managed to get down the stale bread, greasy meat, and strange tangy spread.

"How's Diane?" Miss Gertrude asked Casey as she leaned against the edge of the sheriff's desk.

"You can ask her yourself," Sheriff Beckman said, walking slowly out of the jail's anteroom. She swiped a sandwich from the basket of food and took a large bite.

The sheriff still looked pretty bad, Chuck thought privately. Although she hadn't drunk anything today, as far as he knew, so that was a good thing.

"You look like crap, Diane," Miss Gertrude said. "You think your boy woulda wanted you to act like this?"

Chuck sat up in his chair. This was something. No one had ever mentioned the sheriff's dead son in her hearing. Everyone avoided talking about, for fear of what Beckman would do.

The sheriff harrumphed. "Sensitive as always, Gertie."

Miss Gertrude narrowed her eyes. "You know that no one is allowed to call me that."

"Make me stop, then," the shorter woman challenged, taking another bite of her sandwich.

"Ladies, ladies!" Morgan said, standing between the sheriff and the saloon-keeper. "No need to fight. Sheriff, you're looking great-you've got roses in your cheeks. And Miss Gertrude, my, these sandwiches are mighty tasty."

Both women rolled their eyes, practically in unison. How did women do that, Chuck wondered.

"Grimes, stop sucking up."

"Morgan, you lie worse than Bartowski."

Beckman looked around the room. "Who the hell's Bartowski?"

Chuck lifted his hand in the air. "Me. That's me, Sheriff Beckman. Chuck Bartowski? We met the other day? And . . . and every other day?"

Beckman's face was blank. She looked over at Casey. "You vouch for this fellow, Casey?"

The other man shrugged. "Fellow can't shoot at all. But he's not bad with a knife, and he's here, after all, even with what's goin' on with Shaw."

"Hell," said Beckman. "Guess we gotta do somethin' about that."

"It is kinda our jobs," Morgan said.

"Ain't my job," Casey said. "I'm just passin' through."

Miss Gertrude snorted. "You should just go ahead and deputize him, Diane. Him and Bartowski. Might as well make it official."

"But there's something to be said for keeping it unofficial," Chuck said. Him, a deputy? He didn't even know how to shoot, like Casey said!

Beckman looked at Miss Gertrude, then shrugged. "Aw, we'll figure it out. Besides, if they wanna put on a tin star an' give outlaws somethin' to aim at, it's their funeral."

Morgan's eyes widened, as if he'd never realized that unknown purpose to his deputy's star. And Chuck resolved that he wouldn't become a deputy.

XXX

Saturday dawned bright and hot. When Chuck woke up on his cot in the sheriff's office, he opened his eyes and saw Casey staring down at him. Chuck jerked up. "Casey!" he bleated. "What is it?"

"Get moving, kid," Casey said. "We need to be out on the streets. Word is the Walkers are comin' into town today. Gotta make sure no trouble gets started."

"I thought you didn't want to be a deputy," Chuck said, trying to untangle himself from the blanket that had gotten wrapped around his legs in his sleep.

"I ain't," Casey said. "Doesn't mean I wanna see things go to hell 'round here."

Chuck supposed that made sense. He finally got free and stood up, stretching a bit. "So what's the plan?"

"Gonna make a loop between Granger's store, the hardware store, and Gertrude's," Casey said.

"Any of these places have coffee?" Chuck asked, holding back a yawn.

Casey shoved a mug into his hand. "Drink fast."

With a sigh, Chuck downed the lukewarm, bitter brew. He missed breakfast. Sitting around, talking about what the day would hold, greeting the day with enthusiasm while eating flapjacks and salt pork. He guessed there wouldn't be any of that in his future, not any time soon.

Picking up his hat, Chuck followed Casey out onto the street. He squinted against the bright light, noticing there seemed to be a few more wagons then there had been last week. Perhaps people had some hope that the war between Daniel Shaw and the Walkers wouldn't happen, thanks to Casey.

When they stepped into Granger's General Store, Chuck shook his head, trying to adjust to the dim light. He noted that things seemed pretty busy. Several ladies, wearing bonnets and carrying children, clustered around the counters. There was a low hum of feminine voices, with the louder pitch of Mr. Granger and his two male assistants cutting through the buzz.

As he swept his eyes over everything, Chuck tried to improve his powers of observation. Casey must have thought there wasn't anything worth noticing, because after looking around the room, he turned towards the store's exit. Just as he reached it, a man opened the door and stepped inside.

The stranger was well-dressed, wearing an immaculate black suit that didn't show any signs of dust. He looked like he was between Chuck and Casey in age, his dark hair showing no signs of gray. Chuck's eyebrows lifted when he noticed the man didn't have a gun, unlike pretty much every other man in El Dorado.

"Shaw," Casey said, his voice low.

"Why, it's the famous John Casey," said the man who must be Daniel Shaw. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Casey."

Casey ignored the social niceties like responding to Shaw's greeting or shaking his outstretched hand. "Awful brave of you, walkin' around with no gun. Still hirin' it out?"

"Mr. Bennett's otherwise occupied. I'll let your old instructor know you asked after him. He is your former teacher, isn't he?" Daniel Shaw's voice was silky, perfectly measured and unruffled. It was creepy, Chuck thought. He was like the automatons that Chuck had read about: machines that looked like people and tried to act like them, too. "And I don't think I need a gun just to visit the local general store, do I? We're all law-abiding, God-fearing folk here in El Dorado. Or, at least, we used to be."

Casey grunted. Chuck stepped closer, trying to hear more. Casey had been taught by Bennett? That was a new and slightly worrying wrinkle to this whole affair.

"Who's your friend, Mr. Casey?" Without waiting for an introduction, Shaw held his hand out to Chuck. "I'm Daniel Shaw. Pleased to meet you, Mister . . . ?"

"Chuck Bartowski," he said, shaking Shaw's hand quickly. It was awfully smooth for a man's hand. He let go of it quickly.

Shaw looked back and forth between Casey and Chuck. "The cycle continues, I see. Mr. Casey has to go face to face with his master, all the while teaching his own student. It will be interesting to see whose methods succeed." With a tip of his hat, Shaw moved into the general store.

"Easterner," Casey grunted, making it sound like an even bigger insult. He pushed his way out of the store and out onto the street. Chuck hurried after him.

"Casey-Casey, what Shaw said . . . was Ty Bennett your teacher?"

"Yep," Casey said, his eyes scanning the street.

Chuck stared at the other man. "Why haven't you told anyone?"

"Ain't anyone's business, is it? And how d'you think people would take it, hearin' I've gotta go up against my teacher?"

"It'd be bad." Chuck had to agree with Casey on that.

Casey looked at him as if he'd just said water was wet. "Yeah." He turned and started walking down the street, towards a collection of mounted riders around a wagon. Casey nodded towards a late middle-aged man on one of the horses. "Walker."

So that must be Jack Walker, Chuck thought. He had a smooth look about him, like he could sell ice to Eskimos. But he also had a weatherbeaten face, worn hands, and sat his horse like a real cowboy. He seemed trusthworthy to Chuck.

The man made a salute by touching two fingers to the brim of his hat. "Morning, Casey. Any trouble around?"

"Nope, unless you folks go to the general store."

Mr. Walker nodded. "Understood." He turned to the women in the wagon. "Ladies, why don't you do your visiting, then we'll stop by the general store on the way outta town. Adam, Matt, you go with 'em. Rest of you, let's go take a look at that horseflesh."

Chuck watched as the Walker party broke up into two smaller groups and went on their way. Casey grunted.

"Jack Walker's the smoothest con man around."

"Con man?" Chuck asked as they started walking towards Miss Gertrude's.

"Half his land he got by snookering people. Convincing them that it was to their advantage to sell. Other half, he won in poker games."

Chuck frowned. "But he's the good guy in all this?"

Casey looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Walker only went after the people that shoulda known better. Not our place to protect the stupid."

"But . . ."

"Shaw's already tried all the legal ways to get Walker's water rights. Now he's movin' on to the ones that ain't so fair and legal," Casey said. "Walker, though, if he couldn't talk someone into selling, he gave up. He was doin' us all a favor, weeding out the greenhorns who weren't gonna make it."

Chuck thought this over as they kept patrolling. To his mind, it seemed that both Shaw and Walker were in the wrong, even if Shaw was more wrong than Walker. But maybe that's what being a lawman was all about: figuring out who was the most wrong, the most dangerous.

"Either way, gonna need plenty of patrols tonight," Casey said. "Shaw won't be alone-he'll have brought his men in, and probably paid 'em too. That means drinking."

Chuck nodded. "Yeah. Do you think anything might happen to the Walkers?"

"Wouldn't surprise me," Casey said.

XXX

By the time evening rolled around, Chuck was already feeling the increased workload. Sheriff Beckman and her deputies, official and otherwise, had broken up two fights and looked into several thefts and petty crimes. The town felt like a powder keg, ready to go off with the slightest spark.

He slumped down in a chair, yawning. "Is this normal?"

Morgan shook his head. "Nope. Town's too riled up. People who normally wouldn't try anything feel like they can get away with it, since there's the range war goin' on."

Casey nodded. "Yep. Get plenty of coffee-it's gonna be a long night."

Morgan started filling cups of coffee and passing them around. He looked at Casey. "How's the sheriff doing?"

"She ain't done any drinkin' today. Seems like she got the message."

Chuck grinned. "Knew that no one was that stubborn."

"Speak for yourself," Beckman said, coming out of the anteroom. She was definitely looking better, Chuck thought. Her face had a bit more color, and she was moving and talking with more vigor. So even though she couldn't seem to remember his name, Chuck was glad that the cure seemed to have worked.

The sheriff looked at Casey. "We ready to go?"

Casey nodded. "Yep. Long as Bartowski doesn't fall asleep on us."

"I'm up!" Chuck protested, just fighting back a yawn.

"Look alive, man," Beckman said tartly. She turned towards the gun rack on the wall, taking down a rifle to go with the revolvers strapped to her hips. She was loading it when everyone in the jail heard the sound of gunfire.

Chuck jumped to his feet, but Casey and Beckman were already out the door by the time he reached it. With Morgan, he ran after the sheriff and Casey, who were heading down the street towards the less-nice saloons.

In the middle of the street were a knot of people, surrounding a man who was laying on the ground. Chuck felt his heart in his throat. Was the man dead?

When he reached the group, he drew in a breath in relief. The man only had a shoulder wound, and although there was a lot of blood-blood that Chuck was trying not to look at-he seemed okay.

"What happened, Adam?" the sheriff asked, and Chuck realized that the two of the men were Walkers. He'd seen them this morning, escorting their women on their visits.

"We were walkin' out of the saloon," Adam began. "Three men came up behind us, and they started makin' fun of Matt. Then one of 'em grabbed my gun. Matt turned around, and they shot him. Then they ran away."

"You get a look at 'em?" Casey asked gruffly.

Adam shrugged. "One was tall, one was short, and one was pretty fat."

"Which way did they go?" Beckman asked.

"Down that way," Adam said, pointing further down the street.

Beckman and Casey exchanged glances, then stepped aside as the town doctor and a few women came forward. Chuck stayed still, watching the doctor work and the locals talk quietly about the range war.

"Bartowski, Grimes, get over here."

Chuck looked up from the Walkers and moved over to join Casey and Beckman. Casey spoke softly. "Looks like the men who did this went over to Miller's Saloon. That's where Shaw's men drink. Seems like these men were hired by Shaw."

"So-so what are we gonna do?" Chuck asked, feeling nervous.

"Arrest those men. Find out who hired 'em. And arrest him." Beckman's plan was simple and precise.

"Right," Chuck said. He rubbed his sweaty palms against his pants.

"Casey, you and these two will go in the back way. I'll go in the front," Beckman said.

"Are you sure about that, Sheriff?" Morgan asked, sounding worried.

Beckman glared at him and turned on her heel, heading towards the saloon.

Morgan looked at Casey. Casey shrugged. "They've been laughin' at her for months. And she knows that now. She needs to show 'em that she's not a joke." With that, Casey started following Beckman down the street.

Chuck walked with Morgan in Casey's wake. He looked at the bearded deputy. "Don't worry. We'll be there to back her up."

"Yeah . . . yeah, you're right." Morgan seemed to have some extra courage now.

As Chuck took up his position with Morgan and Casey in the back room of Miller's Saloon, he hoped he hadn't been lying.

XXX

Chuck ran out of the old church, following one of the three men they were chasing. They had attempted to arrest the three men in Miller's, but they had hightailed it out of the saloon and headed towards the nearby church. Beckman had lead the deputies into the church, guns blazing. One of the men, the fat one, hadn't made it to cover before a shot from Casey took him down.

He crouched in the back of the church with Morgan, doing his best to not get shot. Midway through the gun battle, he saw the short man scamper out the back door of the church. Casey and Beckman were pinned down, and Casey nodded to him. So Chuck had made his way to the door as fast as he could and followed the man.

He caught sight of the man, short and slim with a dark complexion, as he ran down the street. Chuck clutched his gun, readying himself. Then, he fired.

The recoil knocked him back, nearly sending him to the ground. He blinked, trying to see through the smoke that hung in the air after his gunfire.

So . . . he had shot a sign. It looked like the sign had at least hit the man, but . . . but he'd shot a sign.

Casey was gonna love that, he thought with a sigh.

Fortunately, when Casey, Beckman and Morgan arrived, they were too occupied with finding out what happened to the man for Casey to rib him much. The tall man and the fat man were both dead, Morgan whispered to Chuck.

It seemed that someone had winged the man that Chuck had chased, since there was a blood trail from the spot where the sign had hit him.

With the blood trail, it was easy for them to follow the man to another saloon. He idly wondered just how many saloons a small town needed. This was the third one he knew about, and they all seemed pretty much the same. Sure, Miss Gertrude's place was nicer, but it was still a place to drink bad liquor. Chuck shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside. He had to focus.

This time, Chuck accompanied the sheriff by going in the front door, while Casey and Morgan took the back. Beckman walked in, acting like she owned the place. Chuck tried not to give away what he was feeling when he saw who was sitting right in the middle of the saloon: Daniel Shaw and Ty Bennett.

With the entrance of the sheriff, the piano player stopped playing and edged away from the instrument. The conversations in the room died, creating a heavy silence until broken by Beckman.

"A man ran in here. Short, dark complexion, wounded," Beckman said, her eyes running over the assembled men.

"Nobody ran in here," said the man sitting to Shaw's right.

"That so?" Beckman said. "Then why's there a trail of blood leadin' up to your table?"

The man who spoke stayed silent at that. Beckman looked at Shaw and Bennett. "The man we're chasin', he was involved in a shooting earlier tonight. Winged one of Jack Walker's sons."

"Really?" Shaw asked, sounding shocked. "How unfortunate. It's a shame El Dorado doesn't have lawmen that can keep us all safe."

Beckman gave Shaw a look that only a woman could pull off: a look that seemed to ask a man what the hell was he trying to pull.

"Martin?" Beckman called out, looking over at the piano player. "You seem awful anxious to get away from that piano."

"Um . . ." said the small, twitchy man, speaking with a British accent. "No-no reason, Sheriff."

"Well, you wanna get away, then move!" she said, raising her gun and shooting at the piano.

Chuck knew his eyes had become as big as silver dollars. What the hell? Was craziness some weird side effect of getting sober for the sheriff?

Beckman took a few steps closer to the piano. "Move!" she shouted, firing again.

Martin threw himself to the floor and crawled away as Beckman fired a third shot. To Chuck's surprise, he saw the piano get pushed away from the wall and the short man move out from behind it, bleeding heavily. He slumped down on the floor, and Beckman turned to Shaw's table.

"So no one came in here, huh?" she asked, pinning the men with a glare. "Daniel Shaw, I'm arrestin' you for arranging the shootin' of Matt Walker."

Almost faster than Chuck could see it, Ty Bennett reached for his gun. But a loud crash from the back of the saloon stopped him.

"I wouldn't do it, friend," Casey said, stepping out of the back room followed by Morgan.

Shaw slowly stood up, his smooth mask not able to conceal his anger. "You gonna just sit there, Bennett?"

Chuck saw Bennett sweep his eyes around, taking in the guns pointed at the table, and then he looked at his boss and shrugged.

"I'll pay you a thousand dollars when you get me out of jail," Shaw hissed.

"Enough of that, Shaw," Beckman said. She gripped one of his arms, her gun pointing at him. She lead him out of the saloon, Casey taking up position in front of them. Morgan and Chuck brought up the rear, Chuck sweeping his eyes around.

When he saw moonlight glinting off the gun barrel, sticking out from a window in an old barn, Chuck almost groaned. Someone wanted to take a shot at them? He didn't know who was aiming at them, or who they were aiming at. The last thing he wanted to do was bother Casey and the sheriff right now.

Once they got into the jail, Casey and Beckman lead Shaw to a cell and locked him up. Chuck peeked out through one of the front windows, confirming that the gunman was still in the barn across the street.

He turned to Morgan. "There's someone across the street who had a gun on us. I'm gonna check it out."

"You sure, Chuck?" Morgan asked, sounding anxious.

Chuck smiled at him. "I'll be fine."

XXX

Chuck stepped out the front door, moving quickly to cross the porch and enter the alley that ran alongside the jail. He looped through back yards and alleys, making his way to the barn. Fortunately, it wasn't very well-built; there were plenty of gaps between the boards allowing him to see inside.

The gunman was still there. He was pretty slim-looking, about eight inches shorter than Chuck. He couldn't see many more details about the fellow, beyond the well-used rifle he was carrying.

When he found the back door to the barn, Chuck weighed his options. He could just let this go, or he could confront the gunman, try and figure out what was going on.

In for a penny, in for a pound. Chuck eased open the door, grateful that the hinges didn't squeak. He moved as slowly as he could, thinking back to the time Devon had tried to teach him how to hunt rabbits. The key was not lifting up your feet, but sliding them over the ground, in order to not spook the rabbits. Chuck had done okay at that part-it was killing the rabbits that hadn't gone so well.

Once he was fully inside the barn, he searched for some way to approach the gunman and not get shot for his troubles. Chuck wanted to get the gunman's firearm away from him before they started talking. His eyes fell on a high shelf, lined with old bottles and tin cups. Perhaps Chuck just needed to distract him for a minute, and then he could take the gunman's weapon.

Taking a deep breath, he picked up one of the cups and tossed it towards the gunman's left. At the sound of metal hitting wood, the gunman turned, his gun up and his back to Chuck.

That was his opening. Chuck ran forward and grabbed the man around his waist. The gun went flying out of the man's hands as Chuck wrestled him to the straw-covered floor. The gunman's hat fell off, revealing a tangled mess of long blonde hair.

"Hey-you're a girl!" Chuck gasped as he tried to get the gunman-gunwoman?-under his control.

"'Course I'm a girl!" she hissed. She kicked and squirmed, trying to get out of his grasp, but somehow, Chuck managed to pin her to the floor, straddling her waist and holding her hands down.

His face was only a foot from hers, revealing that the mysterious shooter was actually more of a woman than a girl. She looked about the same age as him, and there was something about her face-the big blue eyes that were full of anger, the clenched jaw covered in pale, smooth skin-that caused Chuck's heart skip a beat.

He swallowed. "Okay, okay. You wanna tell me why you had a gun on me and the sheriff and the rest of us?"

"I was after Shaw," she said, her voice firm. "But you all were so close around him I couldn't get a clear shot."

Huh. She wanted to shoot Shaw?

"What's your name?" he asked, the pieces starting to fall into place.

"Sarah Walker," she said, wiggling her hands a little in his grasp. "You gonna let me up?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to say that he was comfortable right where he was, but he thought that discretion was definitely the better part of valor in this instance. So he got up and held a hand out to her. Ignoring his hand, Sarah Walker rose to her feet and started brushing the straw off her clothes.

Chuck shook his head. "I guess you've got a reason to want to take out Daniel Shaw," he admitted.

"Gee, thanks," she said, glancing at him.

So this was Wildcat Walker. She didn't fit in with the mental image he'd come up with. He'd imagined someone with short hair, large muscles, maybe a scar on her face: obvious things that marked her as different. But Sarah Walker looked very normal. More than normal-attractive, in a strong, fearless kind of way.

"I'm on your side here," he reminded her. "There's no need to be so . . . testy."

She arched an eyebrow, then sighed. "You're right. But I take care of my brothers. I always have. And Shaw-the sheriff's not gonna be able to hold him."

"I've been surprised by the sheriff," Chuck said. "She might surprise you."

Sarah let out a pft of disbelief, then eyed him, measuring him up. Chuck had the feeling that he was found wanting in her eyes, because her next words were, "Who the hell are you?"

"Oh!" Chuck held his hand out to her. "Chuck Bartowski."

There was a strange expression on her face as she shook his hand quickly. Like she didn't understand him. "The new deputy. The one that's good with a knife."

"That's me, although I'm not a deputy. Not officially," Chuck said.

"You'd look better with shorter hair."

"You were doing so well until that," Chuck said, leaning down and picking up his hat and her gun. "C'mon."

"My gun?" she asked, holding her hand out.

"Oh, no. First, we're going to the sheriff's, find someone to confirm who you are."

"I told you who I am," she said, a touch petulantly. It was not cute, Chuck told himself. Not cute at all.

"Yeah, well, you insulted my hair. I take that personally. Lifetime of kids teasin' you about something will do that," he said, taking her elbow and leading her towards the jail.

"I'm not saying cut it all off. Just get a trim. You do realize the curls make funny animal shapes, and while it's kinda cute, it's also not exactly intimidating."

He looked down at her, feeling very confused. She definitely wasn't what he expected. She had smarts, with the way she kept surprising him. Most men wouldn't be able to see her appeal past her clothes. But even dressed in dirty trousers and an old leather jacket, he could see that she was pretty. Sarah Walker was intriguing. He wanted to learn more about her. But how to do it? Even now, he could feel her tugging her elbow, trying to get out of his grip. Her nickname was pretty apt.

Well, he was a smart man. He could figure out a way. Because wildcat or not, Sarah Walker was someone he wanted to get to know.

End, Chapter Two


	3. A Gallant Knight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're familiar with the movie, you'll notice that this story is shifting quite a bit starting in this chapter. When I sat down and started planning the plot, I was surprised that my simple story of about four chapters quickly ballooned into a much longer fic. So get ready for more action and more romance than originally planned!

Chuck gripped Sarah Walker's elbow tightly as he guided her through the deserted streets. She clearly wasn't happy with him, if the little yanks she kept doing, trying to break free of his grasp, were any indication.

Most men would be annoyed by her, Chuck thought. They'd want her to be quiet and go along like a good little girl. But Chuck liked her spirit. She wouldn't go down quietly, and he admired that about her.

Although he'd have to admit that he also admired her tight-fitting trousers. He shook his head, trying to focus.

"Distracted?" she said, her voice full of sweet disdain.

"Not-not exactly," he said. "Just wondering what your story is."

She stiffened a bit, then started walking faster. "Nothin' for you to worry about."

His long legs easily kept up with her. "I wouldn't say I'm worried, Miss Walker."

"Miss Walker?" she repeated, sounding amused. "I don't get that too often."

"It's a shame that you don't," he said, pausing at the porch of the jail. "Hey inside-it's Chuck. I'm coming in."

"Git in here!" Casey bellowed.

Chuck winced, hoping Sarah hadn't noticed. From the smirk on her face, she had.

He lead Sarah inside to find Morgan looking nervous, Beckman with a distracted air, and Casey full of anger. "You should know better 'n to go off by yourself!" Casey said, advancing on Chuck.

"You had Shaw to deal with," Chuck retorted, doing his best to stand his ground. "I thought I could handle it."

Casey grunted and stepped back. "Don't do it again, kid."

"I won't. I found this girl across the street. She says she's-"

"Sarah Walker, what were you doing?" Beckman interrupted.

"After Matt got shot, Pop didn't think you'd take Shaw," Sarah said bluntly. "He stationed us in different spots, in case one of us could get the job done." Sarah paused and looked almost sheepish. "I'm guessin' we were wrong."

The sheriff didn't rub it in and instead changed the topic. "Didn't you learn anything the last time you shot someone?"

"I sure did," Sarah said. Her eyes flicked over to Casey before returning to Beckman.

"Well, you can tell your father we got the man that shot your brother," Beckman said.

Chuck could see a softening in Sarah's stance, like she was relieved, but still cautious.

"Will he get what he deserves?"

"Don't know, Sarah. I'm not a judge, just a sheriff," Beckman said tartly. "You round up your family an' get on home. Be careful and stay close."

Morgan, who had been silent the whole time, spoke hesitantly. "How's your brother?"

"Doc says he's gonna be fine," Sarah said. She turned to Chuck and held out her hand. He froze, knowing that he had been staring at her since they had walked into the jail.

"My gun?" she prompted.

"Oh. Oh! Of course," Chuck said, pressing her rifle into her hand.

Sarah looked around the room. "I reckon you're doing what you think is right, arresting Shaw and all. Thanks for what you're doing."

Beckman nodded and Sarah turned to go.

"You don't need someone to help . . ." Chuck started, the chivalry Ellie had drilled into him rearing its head.

Sarah looked at him, her blue eyes guarded and confused. "Why?"

He spluttered. "Why-oh, well, I guess . . ." Feeling foolish, he stepped back and made a path for her to leave.

She gave him a crooked half-grin, then stepped out of the jail.

Chuck could feel his ears turning red. He darted a look at the sheriff and Casey. Beckman looked amused.

"She-she's something else," Chuck said.

"You're lucky you didn't get shot," the sheriff said.

"She really wouldn't have done that, would she?" Chuck asked. It wasn't so much he doubted the sheriff as he needed to confirm this fact for himself.

"She shot me," Casey grunted.

He could feel his eyes bug out. "Wha-she-really?"

Casey tapped his back and turned to talk to the sheriff. Chuck's mind whirled. Sarah Walker had been the one to shoot Casey in the back? That didn't make any sense to him. She didn't seem like the kind of person to take the coward's path and shoot a man when his back was turned. No, if Wildcat Walker was going to shoot you, she'd do it facing you-and give you both barrels, Chuck thought.

Morgan grabbed Chuck and pulled him into a corner. "You offered to help the Wildcat get home?" Morgan's voice was equal parts awe, humor and shock.

"It seemed like the right thing to do!"

Morgan snorted. "You're crazy. You know what happened to the last man who tried to court her? Let's just say he's still a laughingstock, and the knife wound isn't healing so great, either."

"Just 'cause she's . . . tempestuous," Chuck said, needing a moment to find a word that wouldn't reveal his feelings, "doesn't mean she shouldn't be treated as a lady."

"Chuck, Chuck, Chuck," Morgan said, "she doesn't want to be a lady. Ever since her mom left when she was six-Mrs. Walker ran off with some gambler-Sarah Walker has been one of the boys."

"I just think there's more to her than that," Chuck said. He didn't understand why he felt so strongly about this, but he did. Sarah Walker was unlike anyone he had ever met, and he didn't want to treat her like everyone else did.

"It's your funeral, then," Morgan said, sounding resigned. "Just don't say I didn't warn you."

Chuck sighed and flopped down on his cot. Turning to face the wall, he tried to calm his mind and get some sleep. He had a feeling he was going to need all the rest he could get.

XXX

The next morning, Chuck woke to the enticing smells of good coffee, eggs, grits and bacon. He rubbed his eyes, not believing what he was seeing and smelling.

"Jack Walker sent his cook over to make breakfast for us," Morgan said excitedly. "Here!" He shoved a heaping plate into Chuck's hands.

He started shoveling the food in, enjoying the first decent meal he'd had in days. When he finally started feeling full and slowed down, Morgan handed him a cup of coffee.

"Sheriff and Casey have been talking all morning. I think they're planning something."

"What?" Chuck asked, using some bacon to scoop up the last of his grits.

Morgan shrugged. "Dunno. Casey went over to Miss Gertrude's a while ago."

"So he's eating the swill over there instead of this feast?" Chuck snickered.

Morgan laughed, too, but stopped as Casey called from the porch. While Morgan went to let him in, Chuck got out of bed and stretched.

"Casey, what'd Gertie say?" Beckman said, looking up from her desk.

"She's in," Casey said, hanging up his hat.

Beckman nodded, then looked at Morgan and Chuck. "We're gonna hole up and wait for the US Marshal to arrive. With Shaw in custody, things should be quiet."

"What-what about Bennett?" Chuck asked, trying not to sound too nervous.

"He's not gonna risk his paycheck," Casey said. "He tries anything, his boss is the first one shot."

Chuck nodded slowly. He supposed that made sense, but he wasn't sure if Ty Bennett was the type to do what conventional wisdom said he'd do.

"Gertie's gonna bring us food while we wait. Shouldn't be more than four or five days 'til the Marshal arrives," Beckman said.

"You remember when he was last here?" Morgan asked in surprise.

"Yeah," Beckman said, raising her chin. "Threw a bottle at him, didn't I?"

Morgan nodded. "An empty one."

Chuck held back a snort of laughter by drinking the last of his coffee.

Casey snagged the last of the bacon and sat on the corner of Beckman's desk. "We'll keep doin' patrols every four hours. Grimes, you'll go out with me. Bartowski, you'll watch the sheriff's back. Gertrude will keep an eye out and let us know if she notices anything."

Beckman leaned back in her chair. "Still don't think we should be patrollin'. Too risky when we have Shaw locked up."

"You gonna let the whole town go to pot, Diane?"

"Course not, Casey," she said, rolling her eyes. "But we gotta look at the long-term, too. Makin' sure this thing between Shaw and the Walkers is nipped in the bud, that's in the best interest of El Dorado."

"We've been round and round over this, Diane," Casey said, standing up and facing her. "No way to make this work right with needin' to guard Shaw and needin' to keep the town safe. So we gotta do the best we can by each and hope for the best."

The sheriff grumbled softly but didn't say anything distinct. Casey looked over at Morgan. "Go over to Gertrude's and ask her if she's got any guys who can keep watch over town."

"Me?" Morgan asked, looking very nervous. "Casey, you know that Ma doesn't like me goin' to Miss Gertrude's . . ."

"Hell, Grimes," Casey said. "How old are you now?"

"T-t-twenty-six."

"That's old enough to not be scared of goin' against your mama!" Casey said, a vein in his neck pulsing.

"You know what, Casey, you're absolutely right." Morgan scurried to pick up his hat and his gun. Clearly, Morgan had chosen that an angry mother later was no match for an angry Casey now.

XXX

Luckily for everyone in the jail, except for Shaw, a hush seemed to fall over El Dorado. Miss Gertrude had some of her men, all of them big and burly and short-tempered, make rounds through town. Anyone considering getting up to trouble stopped thinking that way when one of her men walked by.

Chuck was grateful for the quiet. It gave him time to work on a letter to Devon. He wanted to tell his almost-brother about finishing his quest against Ellie's killers. Devon Woodcombe was more than his sister's intended; he had been like an older brother to Chuck. A confident, talented, very handsome older brother, true, but he'd always looked out for Chuck. As a Quaker, Devon hadn't agreed with Chuck's decision to go after the men who had killed Ellie, but he had asked Chuck to stay in touch. It was tough to feel like he had disappointed Devon, but he wouldn't change what he had done.

It'd been over six months since he had written to Devon, so a letter was overdue. Chuck wrote about his new job in El Dorado, commenting that he was planning to spend some time there so Devon could write him back. He hesitated, but he went ahead and wrote about Sarah, just mentioning that she was interesting.

He folded up the letter and wrote Devon's address on the outside, then stood up and walked onto the porch, joining Morgan. The shorter man turned and looked at Chuck. "Hey. Your letter all done?"

"Yep. Gonna give it to Miss Gertrude and ask her to mail it when she brings dinner."

Morgan nodded and looked around the town. Chuck joined him, enjoying the chance to get some fresh air. In the midday sun, El Dorado didn't look that different from a dozen other towns that Chuck had passed through over the last five years. Yet there was something special about this place, he thought. Times were bad, but there was still a feeling here, a sense that good things were coming.

It seemed like a good place to settle down, Chuck thought as he leaned against one of the posts that held up the porch's roof.

"Casey snuck out to see Miss Gertrude," Morgan said. "Sheriff will be mad about that."

"I think Casey can take Beckman," Chuck said, grinning.

"Oh, he can, but you haven't seen Sheriff Beckman when she's mad. It's scary that there can be that much anger in such a little body."

Chuck laughed, and Morgan grinned a little and shrugged.

"How long have you lived here?" Chuck asked Morgan, curious to learn more about his new friend.

"Ever since my pa died," Morgan said. "'Bout five, six years now. We had a farm to the east of town when I was younger, but then we moved here and Ma started a sewing business."

Chuck nodded. "Seems like a nice town."

"It is," Morgan said. "Things were startin' to settle down, before Shaw started pushin' the Walkers. We've got two churches, a good general store. Doc Wood's gettin' a bit old, but he's okay. We even got a school two years ago. But now . . ." Morgan sighed. "People don't like what's goin' on. They might start movin' on."

"That'd be a real shame," Chuck said.

"Yeah," Morgan agreed. "But I think things are gonna work out."

Chuck looked at Morgan, his eyebrows raised in an unspoken question.

"Havin' help and the sheriff gettin' sobered up, it evens the stakes out," Morgan explained. "I think we can get this thing dealt with fast, now that we got Shaw arrested."

"Yeah," Chuck said, straightening up. "Guess we better get back inside."

Morgan nodded. "Yep, we'll need to distract the sheriff from noticin' that Casey isn't here."

XXX

When Casey returned, Chuck thought that maybe it would have been better if they hadn't kept the sheriff from realizing he was gone. Because there was no way of missing that Casey had returned. Not with the mood he was in.

"Damn stubborn woman!"

"Uh-oh," Morgan muttered. "I knew things were goin' too well between Casey and Miss Gertrude."

Chuck glanced at Morgan, then looked back at Casey, who was stalking around the jail in high dudgeon. "Um, Casey . . . is something wrong?"

A grunt and a glare was all he got, and Chuck tried again. "Can we help with something?"

"Not unless you know how to talk sense into Gertrude," Casey grumbled. "She's takin' patrols with her men."

"What's wrong with that?" the sheriff asked, her voice cold. "She's a damn good shot, and most everyone listens to her, men or women."

"They don't hafta listen to her to shoot her," Casey said. "She's got plenty of menfolk to help us out. She's doin' enough bringing us food."

"More than enough," Morgan mumbled under his breath, but not softly enough to escape Casey's notice. Morgan shrank back as Casey glared at him.

"Hey, hey, hey," Chuck said, stepping between Morgan and Casey. "No need to take your anger out on Morgan. Casey-John, Gertrude is plenty smart. I'm sure she knows how to take care of herself."

"I told her not to do it!" Casey thundered. "She should listen to me!"

Chuck caught Beckman rolling her eyes before she turned and stalked back into the jail. He took a breath and faced Casey, hoping this would work out. "Casey, my sister Ellie was pretty strong-willed. She didn't mind someone telling her that she might not have the skills to get the job done, but she really hated being told that just 'cause she was a woman, she couldn't do something. That made her madder 'n a hornet. So maybe you telling Gertrude she shouldn't help out hit her the wrong way."

Casey grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. "Just lookin' out for her."

"Of course you are," Chuck said. "I bet she knows that. But if she wants to pull her own weight, you gotta respect that."

"I don't gotta do anything," Casey grumbled.

"You wanna keep spending time with her, you do," Chuck pointed out.

Casey's answering glare didn't have much heat behind it. He clomped into the back room of the jail, leaving Chuck alone with Morgan.

The deputy stared at Chuck. "That was . . . that was amazing."

"What?" Chuck asked, pouring himself some coffee and trying to ignore the small shake in his hands. Going toe-to-toe with Casey took something out of a man.

"You! Soothing the savage Casey like that! That was awesome!" Morgan cried, his voice just above a whisper.

"Just tryin' to get him to see reason," Chuck said with a shrug. "Because the last thing he wants is to lose Miss Gertrude over a fight like that."

"Still, nobody talks back to Casey and lives to tell the tale!"

"Easy, buddy," Chuck said, patting Morgan's shoulder. "It's no big deal."

XXX

As twilight fell over El Dorado, Chuck sat on the front porch, his long legs stretched out in front of him. After three days cooped up in the jail, getting fresh air by stepping out onto the porch had become a welcome respite. No one had been allowed farther from the jail than the privy, and with the same people to talk to and the same walls to look at, Chuck found his thoughts kept going around in circles.

And a popular topic of thought was Sarah Walker.

He still didn't understand how or why she had shot Casey in the back. Yet even with that mystery, he was still eager to learn more about her. Taking one last, long breath of the cool evening air, Chuck stood up and went back into the jail.

Morgan was sitting in a chair by the stove, reading a tattered penny dreadful. He looked up as Chuck dropped into the chair beside him. "Hey."

"Hey, Morgan," Chuck said, leaning back in his chair. "You got a minute?"

"For you, Chuck, sure," Morgan said, closing up and folding the magazine. He slipped it into his back pocket, then faced Chuck.

Chuck looked around the jail, making sure that they weren't being listened to. He lowered his voice. "D'you know why Sarah shot Casey?"

"You don't know?" Morgan asked in surprise.

He shook his head. "It's been bothering me ever since I heard about it . . ."

"Well, it's a sad story," Morgan began. "'Bout six months or so, the thing with Shaw was just getting started. A rumor went around that Shaw had hired Casey and that Casey was ridin' out to meet with Shaw, so the Walkers were tryin' to defend themselves. Luke, the youngest Walker, he was about sixteen then, and he was stationed at this big rock near the trail that goes from town and runs past the Walkers' land towards Shaw's spread. All he was supposed to do was fire a warning shot, so his pa would know that Casey was coming."

Chuck nodded, indicating that he followed Morgan so far.

"Luke wanted to be a hero. He was a good kid, but he was too young for what he was doing that day. So when he sees Casey ridin' along, he jumps up and starts shooting at him. And you know Casey."

"He shot back," Chuck said with a dry mouth.

Morgan nodded, looking regretful. "He did. Hit Luke in the stomach. Casey rode up and tried to help him, but Luke wouldn't listen. Said his pa had told him what happens to a man who gets shot in the gut. Casey was tryin' to figure out what to do, but Luke pulled out a handgun and blew his brains out."

Chuck bent his head, feeling a stab of sorrow at this tragedy. "The poor kid," he said quietly.

"Yeah. So Casey takes Luke back to the Walkers' and tells Mr. Walker what happened. Sarah heard part of it-she knew that Casey shot her brother, but she didn't hear the full story 'cause she ran off in a huff. She's too impulsive, Chuck."

"What happened next?" Chuck asked, choosing not to respond to Morgan's warning about Sarah.

Morgan sighed. "Casey went to Shaw's and turned down his offer. On the way back, Sarah Walker shot him."

"It seems awful cowardly of her, shooting him in the back," Chuck said, rubbing his damp palms over his trousers.

"She's normally a good shot. I guess she just missed," Morgan said.

Chuck nodded, still unsure of how he felt about all this.

"Casey don't hold it much against her. He got up after she shot him and told her off," Morgan said, wrapping up the story. "I think he actually kinda admires her."

"That's just odd," Chuck remarked.

"Honor among gunfighters or somethin'," Morgan said with a shrug.

"So her mom runs off when she's just a little girl . . . and she's brought up like a boy," Chuck said, organizing his thoughts. "Shooting, wearing trousers, riding a horse. She shoots Casey but is still takin' risks, like the other night."

Morgan nodded. "When we were kids, she was right pretty. I'd see her at church, and everybody liked her. Once her ma took off, though, she gave up on bein' a girl and started wearing trousers, never brushin' her hair, getting into fights. She caused so many problems that her pa put her to work."

Casey ambled out of the anteroom and sat down at the sheriff's desk. "You two are chatterin' like a pair of old women."

Chuck stood up and walked over to Casey. "I was asking Morgan about how you got shot."

The older man smirked at Chuck. "Worried about whether Walker's gonna shoot off somethin' valuable if you try 'n court her?"

He swallowed, his ears turning red. "No. Just that we're on her side, kinda, with this whole fight, and I just wanna know if I'll have to watch my back all the time."

Casey nodded. "You won't. She's grown up a bit since then. Hopefully gotten to be a better shot, too."

"That's a bit contradictory. And not reassuring at all, Casey . . ." Chuck said, feeling nervous.

Casey snorted. "Girl's nickname is Wildcat. Ain't much about her that's reassuring." Casey started cleaning one of his guns. "You better figure out where your head's at, Bartowski."

"What-what do you mean?"

"Just 'cause we're takin' Jack Walker's side in this don't mean we're gonna let 'em do whatever they want." Casey glanced at Chuck. "And if you hear somethin' from the Wildcat that don't sound right, what are you gonna do? Go along with her? Or tell the sheriff?"

"You think Chuck should get close to Sarah to get info out of her?" Morgan asked.

"I'm not gonna do that!" Chuck proclaimed loudly.

"Nah," Casey said at the same time. "No way could Bartowski pull one over on Sarah Walker." He looked up at Chuck. "But you might get stuck decidin' what side you're on, if you get involved with her."

Chuck rubbed a hand over his face. "You're all acting like I'm interested in her."

Casey and Morgan snorted in unison, a truly creepy sound. Chuck looked back and forth between the two of them.

"Face it, kid, it's pretty obvious. But you might wanna do some thinkin' before you show up at her door with flowers and candy." Casey spit on a cloth and rubbed it over his gun.

Chuck slumped down in a chair, covering his eyes with one hand, as he tried to figure out what he should do. Was Casey right, and he'd have to worry about choosing sides? Or would it all turn out to be worry over nothing? It'd been so long since he'd had friends, people to worry about. But it'd also been a long time since he'd met a woman that made him notice her.

Would he have to choose between his new friends and a potential romance?

XXX

The next morning, Chuck woke up first and slowly got up from his cot. Rubbing a hand through his curls, he pulled on his clothes and boots and started making the coffee. Casey was still snoring and Morgan seemed like he was just about to wake up when someone pounded on the front door.

Casey jerked upright, then nodded to Chuck. He crossed to the door and stood to the side. "Who is it?" he called out.

"Sarah Walker," came the crisp reply. "I wanna talk to the sheriff."

Chuck fumbled with the lock on the door and opened it quickly. "Miss Walker!"

Casey snickered from his bunk, but Sarah ignored him as she stepped inside. "Mornin', Bartowski," she said with a raised eyebrow.

"Good morning," he said, stepping back and trying not to stumble over his feet. Her buckskin trousers were dusty but close-fitting, and she was wearing a faded red top that hugged her curves. Her blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders, the hat perched on the back of her head keeping her hair out of her eyes. Chuck blinked and tried not to stare. "Coffee?"

She nodded and Chuck quickly poured her a cup. By the time he had handed it over, Beckman had come out of the back room, clearly having just gotten out of her bed. She looked distinctly rumpled and very unhappy about being awake.

"Sarah, what brings you out this early?" Beckman asked as she poured herself a mug of coffee and took a long swallow.

"We've been keepin' watch the last few nights, and we don't like what we've been seein' from Shaw's ranch," Sarah said, pausing to take a small sip of coffee. "Looks like Shaw's hired gun is planning something."

Beckman looked over at Casey. "Thought you said Bennett wouldn't try anything."

"Said I thought he wouldn't. If he's gotten stupid since I knew him, how'm I supposed to know?" Casey said grumpily.

The sheriff rolled her eyes and turned back to Sarah. "We're expecting the US Marshal in a day or so. I'd say keep watch but don't make any aggressive moves."

"Pop's not gonna like that answer," Sarah said.

"He's not gonna get another one," Beckman said sourly. "I got a kid, a greenhorn, and an old grumpy gunslinger at my disposal, while tryin' to hold the man who's alleged as responsible for this range war. If Jack Walker could figure out a better way to use those resources, he's welcome to ride out here and tell me himself."

Sarah shrugged. "Thought it was a long-shot to get your help right now, myself, but I argued with him that we should at least tell you what we've been seein'."

"I'm obliged for the information," Beckman said. "We've been relyin' on Gertie to bring us news and food. Speaking of, give my thanks to your pop for sendin' over your cook the other day."

"You can thank me," Sarah said. "It was my idea." She glanced at Chuck. "Thought some of you could use some good food."

Chuck felt his ears go red. Was she saying he was too thin? Did she not like that? At that moment, he resolved to eat more of the food that Miss Gertrude brought by, even if it was inedible.

Sarah took another sip of coffee, her face screwing up momentarily. Chuck noticed that and immediately filed it away. Sarah Walker didn't seem to like coffee. Or at least, not black coffee.

She handed the nearly-full mug back to Chuck. "Gotta get back to the ranch."

"Ride safe, Sarah," Beckman said before turning back to her corner of the jail. Chuck quickly set down the mug of coffee and followed Sarah out onto the porch.

"Miss Walker?"

Sarah turned around, adjusting her hat. "You keep callin' me that, folks are gonna think you're sweet on me." She grinned tightly, as if she was trying to make a joke, but he spied something in her eyes: something closed-off, like she had to keep her emotions back in order not to get hurt.

"Okay, then . . . Sarah," he said, looking down at her. "I just wanted to say, that breakfast was one of the best I've ever eaten."

"It was all Rosa's doing-she's a real treasure. She's been with us for years," Sarah said, her tight smile softening into something more natural. "You're welcome for it. Figured if you were eatin' Gertrude's food, you'd want something that was actually food."

Chuck laughed quietly and nodded at Sarah. "You've got that right." He smiled at her.

For a split-second, she looked confused and then she took a step back. "Morning, then, Chuck." She turned on her heel and went to the hitching rail, taking the reins of a brown-and-white pinto. She swung up into the saddle and set off at a fast trot, without another word or look.

Chuck watched her go, leaning against one of the porch supports. Every time he saw her, he felt the same pull. It was like the magnets he'd used for experiments at school, testing the strength of the magnetic fields.

He'd seen her twice, and each time, he'd wished everyone else around could be somewhere else. Like how it had been for those few moments when they'd first met, when it was just the two of them and she revealed a hidden sense of humor. But when other people were around, she clammed up and got stiff, like she was trying to play some kind of role.

As the dust from Sarah's horse settled, Chuck made up his mind. He'd find a way to spend time with her, just the two of them. His feelings for her were definitely romantic, but he had a feeling she wouldn't react well to an offer of courtship. Besides, they barely knew each other. They could start off slow, get friendly, and see what happened.

He hoped that being friends would be just the beginning for them. He'd had plenty of experience with being disappointed, with getting his hopes crushed. But he couldn't stop hoping. And this time, it felt like there was a lot riding on this.

End, Chapter Three


	4. Ride, Boldly Ride

There was a new tension among everyone in the jail that night, Chuck thought. It was understandable: the U.S. Marshal was due to arrive in the morning, and Beckman had been taking care of the paperwork she'd need to make the case against Shaw. Add the escalating stress from being cooped up in the jail, and Chuck did all he could to stay in the background. He wasn't about to set off Casey or Beckman, since both of them like hair triggers right now: the slightest pressure and they'd explode.

For lack of anything better, he was reading one of Morgan's penny dreadfuls when the knock came at the door. A soft voice spoke in Spanish, and Morgan got up and cracked the door.

Chuck saw a young Mexican boy, no more than ten or eleven. Morgan said something to the boy, who replied anxiously. He tugged on Morgan's arm in the universal "come on" gesture, then turned and ran away.

"What'd he say, Grimes?" Beckman asked, her voice full of concern.

"He works on Shaw's ranch," Morgan said quietly. "And he said they're being attacked."

Morgan must not have kept his voice low enough, because Shaw called out, "Well done, Sheriff. You locked me up, only to leave my property defenseless! At this very moment, my cattle are getting rustled, my people being hurt!" Chuck might have been convinced that Shaw was worried, if his voice wasn't so emotionless.

"Can the waterworks, Shaw," Beckman snapped. "Grimes, guard the prisoner. Casey, you and what's-his-name, come with me."

Chuck assumed he was "what's-his-name," so he grabbed his hat and his gunbelt, fumbling to fasten the belt as he followed the sheriff and Casey to the stables.

"Knew that damn fool Walker wouldn't leave well enough alone," Beckman was saying when he caught up. "No, he had to strike back, had to prove he was a big man." She spit on the ground, then threw open the door of the stable and started saddling her horse.

Casey grunted and dropped his saddle on the back of his horse. "Man felt like he hadta get some of his own back. Stupid, but easy to get. What's the plan?"

"Me and the kid find Jack Walker, and if I don't shoot 'im, we'll get him to stand down," Beckman said. "You find a good position an' keep things from gettin' worse."

"How?" Chuck asked, working the buckles on his saddle as quickly as he could.

"By shootin' people," Casey said.

"Only if absolutely necessary," Beckman said. "Go for warning shots first."

Casey grumbled. "Ain't no fun to warn 'em first."

Chuck felt his gut twist with nerves. It was one thing when he was going after Ellie's killers; he always approached them one on one, making it a fair fight. But this-it was a gun battle, with no rules. And despite his practicing, he still couldn't aim worth a damn, in Casey's words.

"C'mon, Bartowski," Casey said, swinging up into the saddle. "Get moving."

"Um . . . um, yes," Chuck said. He swallowed and mounted his horse, setting Newton at a fast trot after Beckman and Casey. He didn't think he was going to be much use in this fight, but he had to try. He couldn't leave the sheriff defenseless when she tried to end the latest battle in the war between Daniel Shaw and Jack Walker.

XXX

As they approached Shaw's homestead, the sound of scattered gunshots and yells became louder. Chuck had to keep urging Newton on, because his horse sensed his tension and kept slowing down. On a ridge that overlooked the house, Beckman reined her horse. She turned to Casey and pointed. "Ride along towards the west, to that high point in the ridge. It'll give you cover."

Casey nodded and spurred his horse on, galloping off. The sheriff turned to Chuck. "Okay, kid," she said. "We're gonna ride towards the front of the house and call out the two sides. Cover me."

With clammy hands, Chuck drew his shotgun. He nodded to Beckman and she started riding, her own gun out and firing an occasional shot in the air.

Chuck kept his eyes on Beckman, gripping his gun tightly. He had a sinking feeling that he was gonna screw this up. As he followed her, he tried to remember everything Casey had told him about shooting.

"Jack Walker! Come outta your hole and end this!" Beckman hollered, drawing up in front of the house and wheeling her horse around to face the landscape. She fired her gun twice in the air. "Hold your fire, everyone!" She looked towards the house. "Ty Bennett! Hold your fire and get out here!"

Drawing his horse up behind the sheriff, Chuck held tight to the reins with one hand. Newton danced a little and Chuck leaned forward, speaking softly to him. "Easy, boy."

It was advice he should take, too, Chuck thought as he watched Beckman.

"Walker! Jack Walker!" she yelled. "You show your face, or I wash my hands of this whole mess!"

Within a few moments, Chuck spied two horses riding towards them. One rider had his hand in the air, while the second man had a rifle pointing towards them. Meanwhile, Ty Bennett and another man stepped out of the house and walked towards Beckman and Chuck, carrying guns in each hand. Chuck swallowed and lifted his gun a little.

The riders drew up about ten feet away, while Ty Bennett and his man stood an equal distance away, forming the third point of a triangle. "Sheriff," Jack Walker said, his voice silky. Ty Bennett stayed silent but nodded to Beckman.

"Bennett. Jack, Adam," Beckman said, acknowledging both sides before turning to look at the Walkers. "You wanna explain why you're attackin' Shaw's holdings when I've got him locked up for shootin' your kin?"

"Sheriff, we saw signs that Mr. Bennett's been followin' his boss's orders even in his absence," Mr. Walker said. "Believe my girl rode in and told you that."

"She did," Beckman said, shifting a bit in the saddle. "And I told her for all of you to hold position an' not do anything stupid." She arched an eyebrow. "Never got the sense that Sarah Walker didn't tell her daddy everythin'. So what part of 'don't do anything' was so hard to understand?"

"Now, Sheriff, no need to get sarcastic," Jack Walker said with a chuckle.

Chuck could see Beckman grit her teeth, even in the dim light of the cloud-covered moon. "I ain't anywhere near to sarcastic yet," she said, extra emphasis on the last word.

"If I might say something . . ." Ty Bennett said, not waiting for permission before continuing. "My men were simply guarding the perimeter of Mr. Shaw's lands."

"Don't piss on my leg and tell me it's raining, Bennett," Beckman retorted. "And that goes for you, too, Walker."

That was very . . . colorful, Chuck thought. All the men seemed struck dumb at the sheriff's way with words, and she continued talking.

"U.S. Marshal's due to arrive tomorrow. Pendin' his decision, I don't wanna hear a peep outta either side in this, you hear me? Bennett, you and your men will stand down and stop makin' any threatenin' moves. Walker, you and your bunch of hellions will go home an' stop causin' trouble. You boys get me?"

It was impressive, Chuck thought, how tiny little Diane Beckman made all these men listen to her.

But that was his last clear thought before gunshots split the air.

Chuck didn't know where the shots came from, but it seemed that both sides had started shooting at once. He looked around frantically, Newton trembling underneath him. Bennett and his man had run back towards the house for cover, while Mr. Walker and his son had galloped back towards the ridge. They were the only ones that were exposed, bullets flying all around them.

"Bartowski!" the sheriff shouted. "Cover me to the ridge!" She kicked her horse and took off.

She knew his name, Chuck thought distractedly as he started riding after her. The moon had come out, throwing more light over the landscape. Chuck swept his eyes around, feeling nervous as he urged Newton on. Suddenly, he saw light gleaming off the barrel of a rifle. A few yards from the ridge was a stand of scrub bushes, and there was a man using them for cover as he aimed for the sheriff. He had a clear shot-Chuck had to act. All of Casey's instructions ran through his mind as he raised his gun, aimed and fired. The recoil of the shotgun knocked him back in the saddle, and he drew his horse to a stop.

The man flopped over, clutching at his wound and crying out. But he wasn't the only one screaming.

XXX

Normally, Chuck would still be apologizing for accidentally shooting the sheriff. But she had ordered him to shut up or she'd give him something to be sorry about. So Chuck had shut up. The doctor had been sent for in order to examine the sheriff's thigh, which bore the clear signs of buckshot.

Doc Wood chuckled as he cleaned and bandaged the sheriff's wound. "Takin' up babysitting now, Sheriff?"

"Always expected to get shot by my deputy sometime," Beckman said. "My money was on Grimes, though."

Chuck winced and looked at Morgan, who nodded as if agreeing with the sheriff. Morgan looked at Chuck sympathetically. "She's not that mad," Morgan whispered.

"You should have heard her on the ride back here," Chuck said quietly.

"If she was that mad, she woulda shot you," Morgan said, seemingly to reassure Chuck. But his friend's words didn't soothe his guilt, and Chuck took a few steps back, moving further away from the sheriff and the doctor.

"Guess life is an always-surprising proposition," the doctor said, finishing his work. He stood up and stretched slightly, his back too hunched to allow him to straighten all the way. The elderly doctor looked at Casey, who was perched on the edge of the sheriff's desk.

"You still got that bullet in you, Casey?" At Casey's nod, Doc Wood frowned. "You haven't found some young doctor to fix you up?"

"Not so far," Casey said, shifting a little.

"Well, I'm expecting a new graduate of my alma mater to be coming here soon. He's gonna take over for me. So he could probably make it right."

"If I live through this, I'll take him up on it."

The doctor nodded. "Sheriff, I'll send over some crutches in the morning. Need anything for the pain?"

"For a few measly buckshot pellets?" Beckman snorted and waved off the doctor. "Grimes, escort the good doctor home-take him through the back."

"Yes, ma'am," Morgan said eagerly, taking the doctor by the arm and leading him to the back door of the jail.

Chuck took a deep breath, wondering if he was going to get a tongue-lashing. As bad as that would be, it couldn't match his guilt over catching the sheriff with his shot.

"Bartowski."

He looked up, then walked towards the sheriff. Beckman leaned back in her chair, her injured leg propped up on another chair. She looked at him for what felt like forever, but was probably no more than thirty seconds.

"You ain't very handy with that gun."

Chuck took another deep breath before he answered. "No, I'm not, Sheriff. I've been practicing, but . . . I just don't have the knack."

"No reason for you not to be good at shooting. You've got the coordination, since Casey told me how good you are with a knife." The sheriff looked at him, her eyes narrowed. "You're just scared for some reason. And until you figure that out, you won't ever be a good shot."

"Y-yes, Sheriff," he said, swallowing.

Beckman nodded. "You do some thinkin', see if you can't get over this. You don't seem a complete idiot, and I could use the help. Especially since word came in while we were gone that the Marshal isn't comin' for another few days."

"I do want to help! I really do, Sheriff," Chuck said quickly. "I like the look of El Dorado, and after so many years of moving around, I'd like to stay put here."

"Hmmmm," the sheriff said. She pushed herself up, and Chuck held himself back, not wanting to offend her by offering his help. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. "Feel like six kinds of gross."

Casey grunted. "Gettin' shot will do that. Although you weren't smellin' fresh as a daisy before this."

"Neither were you," Beckman said, but there wasn't much fire in the insult.

"We're all a bit gamey," Chuck contributed.

The sheriff shot him a look but didn't respond. Instead, she looked over at Casey. "Mayhaps a bath will fix me up. You think you could send word over to Gertie, ask her to make that happen?"

Casey stood and put on his hat. "I'll ask her now. You get some rest."

"That was my plan, Casey, but thank goodness I've got you around to tell me these things," Beckman said, her voice sounding strained. She took a step, moving slowly and awkwardly with her bandaged leg, and Chuck gave up on waiting for her to ask for help. He stepped up behind her and supported her as she hobbled to bed.

It was a sign of her exhaustion that Beckman didn't say anything and just let him help her to the cot she used in the back corner of the jail's anteroom. Chuck eased her down onto the cot, then stood back. "You need anything else, Sheriff?"

She shook her head and dragged a blanket over her. "Go to sleep, Bartowski."

Chuck nodded and stepped out of the anteroom, going to his own cot. He laid down, still feeling embarrassed and guilty over what he'd done. He sighed and turned to face the wall. He'd often felt like this: just when he started feeling like he fit in, something would happen that would make him feel out-of-place, all thumbs, alone.

He curled up in a ball and tried to sleep, but it was a long time before his eyes closed.

XXX

Loud voices woke Chuck in the morning. He rolled over on his cot, his eyes widening when he saw Miss Gertrude making her way into the room, carrying a large basket and followed by two burly men, carrying a large wooden tub.

"Okay, boys, set that down right here," Miss Gertrude said, gesturing to the bit of floor by the stove. "Now take the buckets and start filling the tub."

"Yes, ma'am," one of them said, before both men took large oaken buckets out of the tub and left the jail.

Miss Gertrude turned and frowned at Chuck. "You better get dressed and get outta here, Charles."

"Wha-?"

"Gertie, this is ridiculous," Beckman said, standing in the doorway to the back of the jail. "We can just string up some blankets."

"Hush, Diane," Miss Gertrude said. "Charles, there's breakfast out on the porch. The sheriff deserves some privacy."

"Yes, yes, of course!" Chuck said, scrambling with his blankets. He hurried into his pants and boots, then pulled on his hat.

The sheriff kept grumbling as Miss Gertrude unpacked her basket, revealing several bars of soap and some other female things. When she saw that Chuck was dressed, she handed him a box. "There's your breakfast. Take your coffee with you."

Chuck nodded and quickly poured himself a cup, before darting out onto the porch.

Morgan grinned at Chuck from his spot on the porch steps, his own coffee and breakfast beside him. "Got out in the nick of time, huh?"

"You said it," Chuck replied with a small smile, dropping down next to Morgan.

Casey sipped his coffee. "Gertrude's actin' like she's gettin' Diane ready for her first dance."

Chuck opened the box, revealing greasy sausages and a few hard rolls. He sighed a little but started eating, relying on his coffee to wash everything down.

"Miss Gertrude's said that the sheriff coulda caught the eye of several widowers if she dressed nice," Morgan volunteered.

Casey grunted. "Beckman's too good a sheriff to quit an' get married."

Chuck had to agree with Casey. He'd already been impressed with the sheriff. Now that he had seen her in action, with the gunfight last night and how she dealt with all those men, as well as getting shot-he thought she was doing the best job possible.

He glanced over at Casey, who was staying silent, watching the street as he drank his coffee. To his surprise, Casey hadn't needled him any about shooting the sheriff, beyond saying that Chuck should make sure he was in front of Casey before firing his gun. Maybe Casey was taking some sympathy on him. After all, Beckman had taken care of making Chuck feel like a real greenhorn.

El Dorado seemed to create women with gumption. The sheriff, Miss Gertrude, Sarah Walker . . .

He took a sip of his coffee, hunkering down for a good think. He didn't understand how he felt about Sarah Walker. Things had seemed clear before: he was interested, she didn't seem to find him repulsive, why couldn't they spend some time together? But with her family's attack on Shaw's holdings, and his own actions, he wasn't willing to trust his instincts right now. Not when there was so much that seemed murky to him.

Could he ever get better at shooting? If he didn't, would the sheriff tell him to get lost? And then there was the attack last night. What were the Walkers thinking, going up against Ty Bennett and his gang of trained gunfighters? Once the Marshal arrived, Shaw surely would be tried and convicted. That would be the end of the war, and everything could settle back down.

Chuck sighed and dunked a roll in his coffee, softening it up. He took a bite, chewing slowly. He didn't quite know what to think about these new developments. With how he was feeling, right now it'd probably be the best to just lay low and get his bearings back.

"You okay, Chuck? You're awful quiet," Morgan said, finishing off his sausage.

He shrugged. "Just feeling quiet."

"Embarrassed's more like it," Casey said.

Morgan nodded, looking understanding. "I usedta have nightmares about accidentally shooting the sheriff. But she seems to be takin' it right good, Chuck. Don't worry about it."

Chuck blew out a breath. "Yeah." Not worrying about it was easier said than done, he thought to himself.

XXX

It seemed that a woman's bath took a lot longer than a man's. It was nearly an hour later when Miss Gertrude stepped out on the porch, drying her hands on a towel. "Well, you boys can go back in-she's decent."

Morgan got to his feet quickly. "Need more coffee," he said by way of explanation. Chuck supposed he was also eager to leave Casey and Miss Gertrude alone, who had apparently made up from their fight. Chuck wasn't about to intrude on Casey's love life either, so he followed Morgan into the jail.

"Feeling better, Sheriff?" Morgan asked as he poured himself some coffee.

Chuck took a look at Beckman. After her bath, she definitely looked cleaner, but she hadn't put on any clothes yet. Instead, she was wearing a thick robe. "We're not interrupting anything?" Chuck asked.

Beckman shook her head. "Gertie's determined to wash my hair. She sent the boys out to empty the tub and fill it back up. Lotta fuss, but sometimes it's easier to just go along with her."

"That's Gertrude for you," Casey said, coming in and dropping into a chair by the stove. Miss Gertrude followed him and perched on the arm of his chair.

"Should just do what I tell you, Diane, without arguing," Miss Gertrude said. "In this department, I know best."

Beckman grumbled. "Wanna turn me into some kinda fashion plate. I'm gonna get laughed right outta my job."

"And a sheriff that people can smell comin'-that's a good thing?" the other woman asked, raising her eyebrows.

Chuck couldn't help laughing a little, earning a glare from the sheriff. He grinned at her. "Miss Gertrude's got a point, Sheriff."

"Thank you, Charles," Miss Gertrude said.

"Hey, in the jail."

Chuck straightened at the sound of the voice floating in through the cracked front door. It sounded like-

Morgan got to the door and looked out, then pulled it open, revealing Sarah Walker. She was carrying a bundle and a pair of crutches, her rifle tucked under one arm.

Chuck watched her, feeling his mind grow fuzzy. How did she make buckskins look so . . . feminine? She was curvy, yet there was strength readily displayed by her toned arms. He liked that contrast within her. His resolve to not trust his instincts felt a lot weaker now.

"Doc Wood asked me to bring these crutches over. He also had some clothes for you, Sheriff, and I heard you were taking a bath, so I brought over some soap," Sarah said, dropping everything on the desk by Beckman.

"Why, thank you, Sarah," Beckman said. She lifted the bar of soap and set it by four other bars. "Real handy to have extra soap, since half the town seems to think we don't got any."

Sarah looked sheepish. "Sorry, Sheriff."

"Walker, what are you doin' in town?" Casey asked.

"My brother needed to get his stitches out," Sarah said. "We brought him in to do that, and while I was waiting, Doc asked me to run over here."

Beckman looked at Sarah, her eyes snapping with anger. "This ain't some way of distractin' us, like before?"

"I had no idea what my pop was gonna do when I told you about Bennett," Sarah said, standing her ground. "I stayed back and guarded our place, kept an eye on Matt."

"But you didn't disagree with your daddy's plan, did you?"

Sarah set her jaw, staying silent. Chuck took that as agreement, and the sheriff certainly did, too.

Beckman's voice practically quivered with anger. "Your folks better watch themselves. You're the lesser of two evils in this fight, but I've got a long memory. Once this thing with Shaw gets settled, don't take that as an opportunity to keep makin' your own rules."

"I ain't the one running the show," Sarah said, her voice even. "You'll have to take this up with my pop."

"I will," Beckman said. "Now get your brother home, and stay close. Don't go tryin' anything."

Sarah lifted her chin, looking feisty and defiant. "Anything else, Sheriff?" she said, her voice icy.

Beckman sighed, the anger draining out of her. "No. I'm obliged for the crutches."

Sarah nodded and turned on her heel, taking long strides to leave the jail.

Chuck watched her go, then found himself following her. For some reason, he didn't like the idea of Sarah being angry, being upset. He tried to catch up with her, his long legs finally useful for something. "Sarah-Sarah!"

He wasn't sure if she was ignoring him or just didn't hear him, so he reached out and touched her shoulder. She whirled around, her first raised and ready to punch him. Chuck jumped back, his hands going up in the air. "Hey, hey, no need for violence!"

Sarah sighed and dropped her fist. "Sorry-instincts."

He nearly said that there was a lot of bad instincts going around, but he held his tongue. Instead, he lowered his hands. "You okay?" he asked her. "The sheriff really raked you over the coals."

"I'm fine," she said shortly.

Chuck tilted his head, gazing at her. Her whole body seemed tense, like she was struggling with some kind of emotion.

"I'm sorry the sheriff got so mad at you. You're not the one she should have been angry with," Chuck said quietly.

Sarah looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged. "You don't have to apologize for her."

"Well, she won't let me apologize to her, and I'm the one she's really angry at, so I guess I'm just trying to get the apology out to someone who deserves it."

She looked at him curiously. Chuck took a breath, bracing himself for her reaction. "Last night, when we went out to Shaw's ranch to break things up, I . . . I winged her."

Sarah's eyes widened. "You're the one who shot the sheriff?"

"I didn't mean to!" Chuck protested. "I was aiming at a guy who was gonna shoot her, and she got caught in the crossfire."

"Oh," Sarah said, then bit her lower lip.

Chuck sighed. "Go on, laugh. I know you want to."

"No, I don't want to laugh," she said. "It's just . . . it's pretty sad."

"Sad?" he repeated, feeling his shame and awkwardness increase.

Sarah nodded. "It must be pretty embarrassing, doin' that to the sheriff. Especially in front of Casey, who's one of the best shots around."

Part of him wanted to cringe. To slink away, his tail between his legs, and lick his wounds. This smart, capable woman thought he was sad for shooting the sheriff. And the thing was, she was right. He was an embarrassment, a lousy shot and a greenhorn who was stupid to think he could do this.

But on the other hand, there was still hope. He would get better, if he practiced more. The sheriff hadn't told him to clear out yet, hadn't said that she didn't need his help anymore. And Sarah was still talking to him.

Chuck straightened his shoulders. "Yeah, it's pretty sad. But I'm not giving up yet."

"That so?" she said, squinting a little against the bright sunshine.

"Yeah," he said. "Giving up would mean moving on, trying to find someplace else. And I like it here."

"You do?" Sarah asked, sounding disbelieving. "This place ain't that special."

Chuck shrugged. "Yeah, maybe, but I still like it."

"You've been all over," she argued. "You could go anywhere, but you want to stay here in El Dorado?"

He grinned at her. "Yeah, I do. Why is that so hard to believe?"

"Dunno," she said, taking a step back. "Guess there's no accountin' for tastes."

Chuck tilted his head, trying to figure out just what she meant by that. "I guess so," he said slowly. "Even with the fight going on between your family and Mr. Shaw, I think El Dorado is a good place to live."

"Thought you were supposed to be smart, Chuck," Sarah said. "If you were, you'd get outta here. Find someplace safe to settle down, get a little ranch with a little woman to run things."

He frowned. "Hey, what's that about?" He followed her as she started walking fast towards Doc Wood's office. "Why are you so angry?"

"I ain't angry," Sarah snapped, wheeling around and facing him. She shoved some hair out of her face, revealing her flushed cheeks and bright eyes. "I just wanna be left alone."

"Okay, okay," he said, backing off from her. "Sorry I bothered you, Sarah." He turned and started walking back towards the jail, shoving his hands in his pockets.

He hoped that she might call out his name. Come after him. Explain what she was feeling. But he didn't hear a sound, and he wasn't about to turn around and see whether she was watching him.

Chuck scuffed his boots through the dirt and stones on the street. The last twenty-four hours had been pretty rough. After he had started feeling better about shooting the sheriff, his fight with Sarah had made everything seem pretty bleak. He'd shot Sheriff Beckman, he'd gotten Sarah angry with him, and in both cases, he didn't know how to fix things. That helpless feeling, not knowing what to do-whenever he felt like that, he'd always struggled with how to get over it.

Ellie had known how to help him at these times. She had a way of cheering him up, of making him look on the bright side. On his own, he wasn't so sure that he could find a solution for these problems.

Once he was back at the jail, he slumped down on the porch, not wanting to go inside yet. He knew that Ellie hadn't been some kind of fairy godmother, able to solve any problem with a wave of a magic wand. But she had always been willing to listen, to deal with his quirks. Now that he was getting back to a normal life, her absence in his life was even more apparent to him.

Chuck gazed off into space, searching for his own magic wand.

XXX

"Chuck? You okay, buddy?"

At the sound of Morgan's voice, Chuck stirred out of his daze. He had been lost in thought for a long time-long enough that twilight was starting to fall over the town. He looked up at Morgan and managed a smile. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just needed to think."

Morgan nodded and walked out, dropping down to sit next to him. "Yeah, I bet. Not been easy for you, huh?"

Chuck shifted, making room for Morgan. "Yeah. First the situation with the sheriff, and then . . . I must have said something that made Sarah angry, and that was pretty scary, so I kinda turned tail and ran."

The bearded man chuckled. "You're not the first one to do that, Chuck. Even her brothers run away from her when she's angry."

"Yeah?" Chuck asked, feeling his heart lighten a little bit. Perhaps he wasn't as much of a wimp as he thought.

"Oh, yeah," Morgan said. "Her moods change really quick. She usually keeps herself under control, but sometimes it just all bubbles up and comes outta her like some kind of volcano."

"So what do I do?" Chuck asked.

"Let her calm down," Morgan advised. "I've never heard anything about Wildcat holding grudges, so give her a day or two to get over whatever's bothering her."

"I just wish I knew what I said that made her so upset," Chuck said. "I was trying to apologize for the sheriff biting her head off, and then the conversation just turned bad."

"Maybe she'll tell you, once she's cooled off."

"Maybe," Chuck said, feeling a bit doubtful, but at least that was something to hope for.

"You still worried about the sheriff?" Morgan asked, changing the subject.

Chuck nodded. "Yeah, I am. I feel so guilty for hurting her."

His friend stroked his beard, trying to look wise, Chuck thought. "Of course you do. But you can't let your guilt cripple you."

He looked at Morgan, trying to figure out what he was driving at. "What do you mean?"

"If you're always worried about doin' the wrong thing, if you're worried about feeling guilty or embarrassed, you're bound to keep makin' mistakes."

"Huh," Chuck said, leaning back and thinking this over. "That's pretty smart, Morgan. It's the kind of thing my sister would have said."

Morgan smiled. "Your sister sounds like she was a wonderful woman. I'm glad my advice is as good as hers."

Chuck returned Morgan's smile, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. "And you've only known me a couple of weeks, too. Ellie knew me my whole life."

"Well, I am a student of human nature," Morgan said. "You have to be, when you work as a lawman. You really have to figure out what makes people tick, so you can defend a town."

It was all Chuck could do not to laugh at Morgan's little speech. Somehow, he held back the laughter and just nodded. "Mmm, yes."

"I'm sure you'll get better the longer you work with the sheriff an' Casey," Morgan said. "After all, you're plenty brave, the sheriff said."

"She said that?" Chuck could hear his voice go up an octave.

Morgan nodded. "I heard her talkin' to Casey. Said anyone could see that you were scared crapless, but you still did your best."

"Oh," Chuck said, feeling a flush of pleasure come over him. That was . . . that was nice to hear. Maybe the sheriff was willing to give him the time to get better.

With a lot of enthusiasm, Morgan slapped Chuck on the shoulder. "C'mon. I said I'd go get the food tonight from Miss Gertrude's. You can come with me, get some air."

Chuck smiled at his friend. "Sounds good." He stood up and followed Morgan down the street, talking with him about what they might have for dinner and the penny dreadful that Morgan had just gotten.

And through the whole conversation, Chuck felt his mood lifting and improving. There was still plenty of hope for him, plenty of chances to make a new life for himself here in El Dorado.

End, Chapter Four


	5. And O'er His Heart a Shadow

The knock on the door drew the attention of everyone in the jail. They had been waiting for the arrival of the U.S. Marshal which was expected at any moment. Sheriff Beckman, clean as a whistle and looking quite formidable even with the slight limp from her gunshot wound, rose to her feet and took a few steps towards the door. Then she nodded to Morgan, who was at the ready. The bearded deputy opened the door, only for his shoulders to slump.

Chuck leaned around the stove and saw Ty Bennett standing in the doorway, his hat in his hand. That explained Morgan's disappointment; all of them were eager for the Marshal to come and take Shaw off their hands.

"Bennett," the sheriff said, her voice not exactly welcoming.

Bennett nodded to her. "Sheriff Beckman. I came to speak with Mr. Shaw."

"Not much need for that, as far as I can see," Beckman said. "Seein' as how the Marshal will be here soon. Once he gets here, you might be outta work, Bennett."

"Nevertheless, there are still matters I need to report to Mr. Shaw as his employee."

Beckman shrugged. "All right, then. Hand over your guns to Casey."

Bennett nodded and unbuckled his gunbelt, handing it to Casey. "Mr. Casey. Still full of anger?"

Casey grunted, not responding to Bennett. The other man nodded. "Yes, I see that you are." Bennett turned to Beckman, who lead him back into the jail and stood watch.

Chuck looked at Casey curiously. He'd never shown any sign of regret about being on the opposite side of a fight from his old teacher, but it had to bother him.

Morgan, who had taken up a position by one of the windows with the shutters pushed open, called out, "Looks like the Marshal's comin'."

Casey shoved Bennett's gunbelt into Chuck's hands, then went to the jail anteroom. After a moment, Beckman came out of the jail and opened the door while Casey stayed in the back room.

"Sheriff Beckman," said the tall black man who was at the door. "It's a pleasure to see you."

"Bigger one than last time?" she asked, shaking his hand.

The man chuckled and stepped inside. "A gentleman never tells. It's good to see you looking better, Diane."

"Thanks, Langston. Have a seat. You remember Grimes, and this here is Chuck Bartowski."

Chuck came forward to shake the Marshal's hand. "Sir."

"Langston Graham. Good to meet you." The Marshal turned and sat down by the sheriff's desk. "Diane, I understand that you've got Daniel Shaw locked up."

Beckman nodded and took a seat at her desk. "I sure do." She shuffled the papers on her desk and set a stack in front of the Marshal. "He's charged with hiring three men to shoot one Matthew Walker. Shaw is tanglin' with Jack Walker, and I believe he arranged the shootin' to put pressure on Walker."

"Did you arrest the three men?" Marshal Graham asked, putting on a pair of glasses and looking over the paperwork.

"They were all shot resistin' arrest."

"Hmmmm," Graham said, turning over the pages. "What evidence do you have that Shaw paid these men?"

"One of 'em-the last one standin' after the initial fight-went runnin' right to Shaw," Beckman said. Chuck thought he detected some kind of emotion in her voice, but he wasn't sure what it was. It might just be nervousness about her past encounters with the Marshal, the ones when she was drunk. But it was more than that, he thought.

"Not exactly conclusive, Diane," Graham said, looking over the top of his glasses.

"All three of 'em also had twenty-five dollars in gold in their pockets," the sheriff retorted. "That kinda pay's pretty generous for three laze-abouts."

Graham sat back in his chair and sighed. "I'm sorry, Sheriff, but you don't have enough evidence."

"Graham, you let Daniel Shaw go, this range war's gonna get real bloody."

"You killed three men who shot a boy in the shoulder," Graham said. "That sounds pretty bloody to me." He shook his head and stood up, taking his glasses off and sliding them back into their case. "I appreciate wanting to prevent violence from breaking out, but you've overstepped in this instance. Release Daniel Shaw."

Chuck felt his mouth go dry. Letting Shaw go seemed like a really bad idea. Beckman agreed, because she got up and started jawing at the Marshal. He listened for a few moments, then held his hand up. "I'm sorry, Diane, but my decision's final. You don't have enough proof, and I won't remove a man from his home and livelihood without enough to take him to trial."

The sheriff set her jaw, but pulled a key off her belt. "Fine, Langston." She glared at him. "I'm kinda wishin' I had hit you with that bottle last time."

Graham just nodded and put his hat on his head. "I should be back in a few weeks. If you get more evidence, hold your suspects and I'll take 'em in." He nodded to the sheriff, then to Chuck and Morgan, before stepping out of the jail.

Beckman sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping. "Grimes, go let Shaw out." She held the key out to Morgan.

"Sheriff, the Marshal don't know what he's talkin' about," Morgan said, taking the key.

"I knew it wasn't an open-and-shut case," the sheriff said, sounding tired. "But I thought I knew Graham well enough that he'd trust me on this. Go on, tell Shaw he's free."

Morgan nodded and went back into the anteroom of the jail. After a few moments, Daniel Shaw walked out with a triumphant look on his face, followed by Ty Bennett. "Sheriff, your accommodations leave much to be desired. This place is quite dangerous, in fact. I'm glad I've lived to walk out of this place," Shaw said, his face flat and expressionless in contrast with his mocking words.

Beckman gritted her teeth but remained silent. She opened a lockbox and handed Shaw his personal belongings, her movements stiff.

Shaw set his hat on his head. "Good day." He ambled out, followed by his gunslinger.

Barely had the door closed before Morgan and Casey came out of the back room, both of them looking as mad as hornets.

"What the hell kinda trick is Graham playin'?" Casey growled. "He knows how these land fights work."

"You think he's mad about the bottle, Sheriff?" Morgan asked, sitting down in a chair by the stove. Chuck joined Morgan and sat in another chair, looking back and forth between Casey and the sheriff as his mind tried to work things out.

"Dunno, Grimes. Not sayin' we had an iron-clad case, but I expected Graham to see what I see," Beckman said, sounding pretty defeated.

"Maybe Graham's on the take," Casey said darkly. "Awful convenient, Bennett showin' up just before the Marshal did."

"Speakin' of no proof . . ." Beckman said, shooting Casey a look. "I've known Langston Graham for ten years, and there's never been any signs he's anything more'n a good Marshal."

"He's always treated me fair," Casey acknowledged. "Still, this stinks of somethin'."

"Maybe . . ." Chuck started to say, waiting for everyone to look at him. "Maybe we should do what the Marshal said. Get proof that it's Shaw who's breaking the law."

"How you gonna do that?" Casey asked, folding his arms over his chest. "You gonna go undercover at Shaw's or somethin'?"

Chuck shook his head quickly. "No, no. I couldn't do that. But . . . but there has to be a way to find out more. Talk to people here in town, or people that work for Shaw. What about his servants? Maybe one of 'em has seen something."

"It's possible, but are we gonna get anyone willin' to testify?" Beckman said. "Not likely."

"Still, it's not a bad idea," Morgan said. "People talk, y'know. If we get the word out, to Miss Gertrude, to Mr. Granger, we might get enough for us to know where to start."

"Granger's the biggest gossip this side of the Rio Grande," the sheriff admitted. "And Gertie always knows what people are talkin' about."

Casey grunted. "Seems too risky to me. But it's an idea."

"A not bad one," Beckman said. "Morgan, you figure out the best people to ask and see what you might find out. We'll take this slow, and hope that neither Walker nor Shaw do somethin' stupid in the meanwhile."

Chuck couldn't help a big grin at the thought of his idea being approved. Perhaps he was leaving the greenhorn behind.

XXX

Now that there was no longer a prisoner in the jail, all of them got the chance to spend more time in town. Chuck went back to his habit of taking shooting practice every day, usually in the early evenings. He also stopped in at Granger's store, picking up some reading material. He'd always been a reader, but he had tired of the few books he carried with him. And while Morgan's penny dreadfuls were strangely compelling, he wanted something a bit more meaty.

Happily, Mr. Granger had a few battered books for sale, so Chuck picked the most interesting one and tucked it into the back pocket of his trousers. Stepping out onto the porch of the store, he looked around, enjoying the chance to take his time and get plenty of fresh air. He leaned against one of the porch columns, looking around as he took a few deep breaths.

He nodded to the people he knew as they walked past the general store. Chuck might have only lived in El Dorado for just over a month now, but he was settling in. He certainly felt pretty welcomed here, unlike other towns he had passed through over the years.

Chuck straightened up a little when he saw Ty Bennett talking to Casey. The two men were standing outside the blacksmith's shop, a few doors down from the general store. There was no way for Chuck to hear them from here, and he didn't want to risk attracting their attention by moving closer. So he watched them closely, trying to guess what was going on.

Casey was always hard to read, but Chuck thought he looked grumpy, almost defensive. His arms were folded across his broad chest and he was listening to Bennett, a frown on his face.

At least he had some idea what Casey was feeling. Bennett didn't give any such signs. He stood there, his body still, his face blank. He spoke softly to Casey, not making any gestures as he talked.

After a few moments of Chuck's observation, Casey shrugged and walked away from Bennett, coming towards the general store. Chuck stepped down off the porch and fell into step beside him.

"Saw me talkin' to Bennett, huh?" Casey asked.

Chuck nodded. "Yeah." He looked at Casey. "You okay?"

"'Course I am," Casey grumbled. "We're both pros. We know how it works."

"And how does it work?"

Casey looked at Chuck, his eyes measuring Chuck up, then he shrugged. "In this line of work, you can't make it personal, unless it gives you an edge."

Chuck rolled that statement around in his mind, but his face must have shown his confusion. "Bennett's all about findin' the calm center," Casey explained. "He gets mad, he's not so good. So the madder he gets, the better I like it."

"Oh," Chuck said. He looked at Casey. "Was that something he taught you? Finding your calm?"

"He tried," Casey said. "Me, though, I work better when I'm angry."

Somehow, Chuck managed to turn his chuckle into a clearing of his throat. Casey shot him a look.

"Nothing, nothing!" Chuck said weakly. "Bit of dust in my throat. So it's not strange to be going up against your old teacher?"

"Not really. Like I said, it's business," Casey said. And with that, he turned and headed towards Miss Getrude's.

Chuck watched Casey go, thinking over their conversation. In the last few weeks, he hadn't spent a lot of time with Casey, not with making friends with Morgan and Casey being busy with Miss Gertrude. It was nice to talk to him. If nothing else, he always learned something.

Since he was already halfway there, Chuck turned and headed back to the jail to let the sheriff go spend some time outside.

XXX

The next few days were quiet. Chuck practiced shooting some more, got dragged by Morgan to church on Sunday morning, and read a little. He saw Sarah once or twice, but whenever she saw him, she flushed and found somewhere else to be.

Her reaction was confusing, but also gave him a tiny bit of hope. Clearly she seemed flustered by him-and that was better than not getting any reaction at all. He was hoping that soon she'd be willing to talk to him.

At least his plan for dealing with the range war seemed to be working out. Morgan had talked to a few people, and every day or so he went out and made the rounds. With each piece of info he reported, they got a little bit closer to figuring things out. Well, it seemed like they were. The sheriff said things were starting to fall into place.

Today, Chuck went with Morgan around town to the circle of informants. First Miss Gertrude's, then Mr. Granger at the general store, a visit to Doc Wood's office, and finally a stop at the stagecoach depot.

"Hi, Cole," Morgan called out as they walked in.

A strapping man, tall and dark and looking like something out of a cowboy story, walked around a wagon and nodded to them. "Morning, Morgan. Who's this?" In contrast with his image, Cole had a English accent.

"This is Chuck Bartowski. Chuck, this here's Cole Barker-telegraph operator, manager of the depot, and one of the best judges of horseflesh in town."

Chuck nodded to Cole. "Good to meet you."

"So you're the one who's been flirting with the Wildcat," Cole said, his voice amused. "No scars yet?"

Chuck glanced at Morgan, who whispered under his breath, "Check out his hand."

Chuck looked down and spotted an ugly-looking scar on the back of Cole's hand. Something about it tugged at his memory, but he couldn't figure out what. So he just shrugged and smiled. "I like meeting new people."

"So what have you heard, Cole?" Morgan asked, pushing past the awkward introductions.

"Well, Adam Walker came in yesterday with one of his prize stallions."

"That's not that unusual," Morgan said. "He's always bringing horses here."

"Not ones with shrapnel in their rumps," Cole said, leaning back against a cart. "He wanted my help to get the shrapnel out and minimize the scarring."

Chuck thought that if Cole had known how to prevent a scar, he'd have applied the knowledge to himself. But maybe Cole thought the scar made him look tough. He shook his head and looked at Cole. "What do you think happened?"

The Englishman looked at Chuck. "Since you're asking me . . . I think there was some kind of firefight. Maybe the Walkers aren't letting things rest with Daniel Shaw walking around a free man."

Morgan looked worried. "You really think so?"

Cole shrugged. "It's just a guess. Adam didn't tell me what happened and I didn't ask. Could be a gunshot just went astray." He turned and looked at Chuck. "You know about that, so I've heard."

Chuck felt his face redden. Morgan frowned at Cole. "I should get back to the sheriff with this info. I'll be by again, and let me know if any of the Walkers bring in any more injured horses."

"I will, Morgan. Have a good day." With that, Cole turned and went into a small office area, and Morgan hurried Chuck out.

"Don't pay Cole any mind-he's still sore that Sarah laughed in his face when he tried to flirt with her. That's how he got that scar. She ran a knife across it an' said if he tried it again, he'd lose some fingers."

"Ouch," Chuck said distractedly, still thinking about Cole showing interest in Sarah. Was that the kind of man she would be interested in? Someone tough and strong and knowledgeable?

"Yeah," Morgan said. "But I'm more worried about what's goin' on with the Walkers. Let's get back to the jail."

XXX

The sheriff wasn't happy with the news that Morgan and Chuck brought back. "What the hell are the Walkers playin' at?"

"I dunno, Sheriff, but . . . but it ain't good," Morgan said, slumping down in his chair.

"Seems to me they're doin' hit and fade attacks," Casey said. "Ride in quick, rustle up some trouble, then get outta there fast."

"Why would they do that?" Chuck asked. "Other than being a nuisance."

"Chip away at Shaw's forces, keep 'em on high alert and get 'em to make mistakes," Casey explained.

Morgan made a face. "This is soundin' too much like Indian attacks. The Walkers should just attack and get it over with."

"They do that, they know they've lost the moral high ground," Beckman said grimly. "This way, they hassle Shaw but not enough to make him wanna look weak by reportin' the attacks."

"So what are we gonna do?" Morgan asked.

The sheriff took a deep breath. "For now, we ain't gonna do anything. Grimes, you keep tabs on the people you're talkin' to. Casey, you and me will ride around Shaw's and Walker's places over the next few days, keepin' an eye out."

Chuck spoke hesitantly. "What-what about me, Sheriff?"

Beckman looked at him, her eyes narrowed. "You stick close to the jail with Grimes, make sure things stay quiet in town."

He swallowed. "That-that's all?"

"Yep. Unless you wanna try an' pump Sarah Walker for info," Beckman said.

Chuck shook his head immediately. "No, Sheriff. My friendship with Sarah is private."

Casey grunted. "Shouldn't ask the kid to do that, Diane."

The sheriff sighed. "Probably not. This whole damn thing feels like it's slippin' through our fingers."

"We'll keep the peace 'round here, Sheriff," Casey said, standing up. "Let's go for a ride, clear our heads."

Beckman nodded. "Yeah." She paused and looked at Chuck. "Sorry, Bartowski."

"It's okay, Sheriff . . . but I won't do that. So-so don't ask me again," he said, squaring his shoulders as he spoke.

"Understood," she said, picking up her hat. "C'mon, Casey, let's ride."

"Yeah," Casey said, standing up and letting Beckman leave the jail first. He nodded to Chuck. "Not bad, kid."

Chuck waited until both of them were out of the jail before he slumped down in a chair.

"You okay, Chuck?" Morgan asked, looking at him. "That was real low of the sheriff, askin' you to do that."

He blew out a breath. "Yeah . . . I understand why she asked, but . . . but it wasn't right of her to ask."

Morgan nodded in agreement. "She's worried. But things ain't that bad. Casey will calm her down, get her to see that."

"I hope so," Chuck said, staring off into space. He wasn't sure whether he was expressing his hope in Casey helping the sheriff to stop worrying or that this whole range war wasn't spiralling out of their control.

XXX

By the next day, things were looking up. The sheriff and Casey came back from their ride, and Beckman seemed a lot less doom and gloom to Chuck. He'd also had a good shooting practice, with Casey observing him and noting that he was improving. "Slower than molasses goin' uphill in January, but you're gettin' better, kid."

Chuck whistled to himself as he walked down the street towards the general store. It was his turn to pick up supplies, and he thought while he was at the store, he'd look into maybe getting a new hat. Even if he cut off his hair, his dad's hat would be too small. Ellie had always thought he was foolish to hold on to that faded hat. That it wasn't fair to Chuck for him to keep their father on such a pedestal, after what he had done.

He still didn't agree with Ellie about that. He didn't have his father on a pedestal-he knew Stephen Bartowski had feet of clay. But just because Chuck still had fond memories of his father didn't mean he should keep using an inadequate hat.

When he stepped into the general store, he looked around for the apparel section. In the back corner was a small selection of ready-made clothing, as well as boots, shoes, hats and bonnets. There wasn't a big selection. After Chuck tried on the hats that looked like they'd fit, he was left with two choices: a soft-looking brown felt and a stiffer black hat with an elongated crown. It wasn't quite a stovepipe, but it was pretty close.

Not about to add extra inches to his already great height, Chuck picked up the brown hat again and set it on his head. He looked at himself in the small mirror hung on the wall, checking his reflection.

"Didn't take you as the vain type."

Sarah Walker's lazy, amused voice made him turn around quickly, the color rising in his cheeks. He swallowed. "I'm not. But it seemed silly to trade one ridiculous hat for another, so . . ."

To his pleasure, Sarah let out a soft laugh. "You look better without the hat, but that one's definitely better'n the one you've been wearin'."

He smiled at her, a bit shyly. "Thanks." He took the hat off and stood there, feeling slightly awkward as he remembered their last conversation.

Sarah seemed to feel the same awkwardness, because she shifted her feet and then looked up at him. "You got a minute, Chuck?"

"Of course," he said quickly. "Just-just give me a minute to pay up, okay? It'll be just a minute."

She nodded, her lips quirking up at the corners.

He grinned at her quickly, then stepped up to the counter and paid the six bits for the hat. He turned and found that Sarah had followed him to the front of the store, and he hesitated for a moment. "You want to walk?"

Sarah nodded and stepped out of the store. Chuck set his new hat on his head, enjoying how it didn't feel crammed on his head, and walked after her. With it being Saturday, the town was full of visitors, yet Sarah moved past all the people easily, showing her familiarity with El Dorado.

Soon, they were at the stagecoach depot on the edge of town. Chuck felt himself grow a bit worried. This was where Cole Barker worked, after all, and the Englishman still seemed to be carrying a torch for Sarah, her lack of interest notwithstanding.

Fortunately, Sarah didn't go inside the depot. Instead, she hoisted herself up onto the top rail of the fence that surrounded a large corral. Chuck clambered up beside her, and the two of them sat quietly for a few moments, watching the horses in the corral walk around aimlessly and drink from the water trough.

"Seems like I owe you an apology," Sarah said quietly.

Chuck turned his head and looked at her. "No, you don't," he said, resting his hands on his knees.

She looked at him, squinting a little in the sunlight. "Actually, yeah, I do. 'Cause I bit your head off when you were tryin' to help, and that's just wrong. So . . . I'm sorry."

Sarah's voice was soft and sincere. She sounded regretful for what she had done, and Chuck found himself even more impressed by her. She might have a reputation for impulsiveness and wildness, but he thought that she was a lot more controlled than people thought. That she was putting on an act, distracting people from how she really felt.

"Apology accepted," he said softly, giving her a small smile. She looked at him for a moment, then gave him a hesitant, shy smile. Chuck felt his breath catch as he saw how a smile lit up her face. He took a breath and turned to look out at the horses.

"Why did you get so mad?" he asked quietly, not looking at her.

He felt her shrug next to him. "I was embarrassed after the sheriff yelled at me. Embarrassed and angry. And then you were talking about how much you like it here, when all I've ever wanted is to leave."

Chuck turned his head towards her, watching her gaze out at the horses. "You want to leave?"

Sarah nodded. "I want to see the world. Big cities, new places . . . but I won't ever get that."

"You could."

She snorted. "If I was a man, I could." Her eyes were full of naked envy when she looked up at him. "Be like you-travelin' all over, finding someplace new and settling down there. Someplace that felt right. Where you could make a new start."

"That's all true," Chuck agreed. "But you don't hafta leave to change. To get a clean slate."

"The very definition of a clean slate means that people don't know you, that you can make a first impression on 'em," Sarah retorted. "How can I get that here, in the town I grew up? Everyone knows me and no one expects anythin' from me other than the Wildcat."

He took a deep breath. What she said, he couldn't argue with her about. It was accurate that changing was hard when you were surrounded by the people who had known you your whole life. He'd seen that first hand.

"After . . . after my sister was killed," he said quietly, "I went through something like that, when I was trying to figure out what I was gonna do. And when I decided, and started preparing . . . I got a lot of questions, a lot of doubts." He paused, the memories of those days hitting him like a fist in the gut. "But-but I held on to the idea that I had to learn, to change from Chuck Bartowski, student and would-be scientist, if I was gonna find Ellie's killers. And that gave me the strength to go on."

He could sense just how closely Sarah was listening to his story. She gazed at him, her blue eyes very gentle and understanding. "Morgan told me about your sister. I'm sorry."

Chuck nodded. "Thank you. It . . . it's getting easier." He fell silent, looking back at the horses that snorted and pawed at the ground.

"You . . . you think people can change even if no one around them is supportin' them?" Sarah's voice was soft, even hesitant.

He thought that over for a moment. "I think that if you want to make a change, then if it matters, you don't let anything stand in your way. If you're serious about bein' different, I mean."

After a few moments of quiet between them, he turned and looked at her. Her forehead was slightly wrinkled, her chin resting on an arm that she'd braced against her knee. She gave every impression of someone thinking hard. As he looked at her, she straightened up, apparently reaching some kind of decision. She looked at him and gave him a small grin. "You're pretty easy to talk to. I shoulda found the time to do this sooner."

Chuck laughed softly. "Thanks. Although you might regret being friends with me once you can see how much I can talk."

"That so?" she asked, nudging his shoulder. "Chatterbox, huh?"

"Oh, yeah." He grinned at her, feeling his spirits rise. As Morgan had predicted, when Sarah was given some time to cool off, she'd done just that. And what was more, she had approached him, apologized to him, and opened up enough for him to start to understand her. And the more he knew about her, the more he wanted to know.

"So what were you like before?" Sarah asked, looking at him. "Before you left home."

"You start with the hard questions," he said, laughing a little. "Well . . . I was the real studious type. Spendin' time after school reading, borrowing books from my teachers, doing a lot of experiments . . ."

She smiled at him, her nose crinkling in a really adorable way. "An egghead?"

He nodded, feeling a bit sheepish. "Yeah . . . I've always liked learning. I-I was gonna go back East. Find a way to make enough money to go to college."

Sarah's eyes widened. "Really? You must be really smart."

"I guess," Chuck said, his cheeks flushing. "But there's still a lotta things I'm stupid about. Like shooting. And no matter how smart someone is, you can always learn more about people."

"Yeah," Sarah said. "I think I have good instincts about people, but I make mistakes, too."

"Anyone can make mistakes," he replied. "It's about what you do afterwards."

Sarah nodded. "And how good you apologize." She smiled at him shyly, clearly thinking about her apology at the start of their conversation.

"Hey, it's over," he rebuked her gently. "Don't keep worrying about that."

She looked at him for a few long moments, her eyes thoughtful, then she nodded. "Okay."

A comfortable silence settled over them as they looked at the horses. He'd expected to start talking her ear off, but there was something to be said for just sitting quietly with someone. To just existing in the same space.

It was all he could do to hold back a sigh of pleasure. He hadn't felt this comfortable with someone in a long, long time.

Sarah took a deep breath, a small smile on her face. He gazed at her, soaking up the sight of her relaxed and, dare he say it, happy.

"So . . . what about you do you want to change?" he asked her, shifting his body a tiny bit closer to hers.

Before she could speak, a voice called out. "Darlin'."

They both turned to see Jack Walker coming towards them. "Sarah, we've been lookin' all over for you. We're ready to leave town." Mr. Walker looked at Chuck, then nodded slightly. "Bartowski."

Chuck swallowed, his mouth having gone dry at the sight of Sarah's father. "Mr. Walker."

"Sorry, Pop," Sarah said, swiveling and scrambling down from the fence before Chuck even had a chance to offer her a hand. "I lost track of time."

Mr. Walker's eyes widened slightly. "Well, get on back and help Adam and Johnny tie down all the supplies."

"Okay," she said, taking a few steps but then pausing when her father didn't move. Instead, he was facing Chuck, looking at him appraisingly.

Chuck climbed down from the fence, almost catching his foot as he did so. He did his best to stand up straight and meet Mr. Walker's eyes.

"You comin', Pop?" Sarah asked, sounding a bit worried.

"Go on, darlin'," Mr. Walker said, glancing back at Sarah.

Sarah looked at Chuck, still hesitating to leave him alone with her father. Chuck nodded to her and even managed a small smile, although he felt like he was about to puke.

She returned his smile and gave him a small wave, then turned and headed back towards the general store. And now Chuck was left with Jack Walker, a dangerous man who had just found Chuck talking to his only daughter.

He took a deep breath as he faced Mr. Walker. The other man stood in front of him, looking relaxed and at ease. But there was something in his eyes, something forbidding, that gave Chuck the shivers.

"So my little girl has become friends with the new man in town," Jack Walker said after a long moment.

"Mr. Walker, I assure you-I hold Sarah in the highest regard," Chuck said, speaking quickly. "I think she's smart and strong, and I know that if I do anything that doesn't show my respect for her, she won't be the only one hurting me."

"Well, this shows your intelligence, Bartowski, knowing all that." Mr. Walker looked at him, folding his arms over his chest. "But I'm not worried about you."

"You-you're not?" Chuck asked in surprise. He thought this was going to be the traditional talk between a father and a man who showed interest in said father's daughter.

"Of course not!" Mr. Walker said with a laugh. "I love my little wildcat. She's always been a daddy's girl-she's never gonna settle down, because that would mean leavin' her family."

Chuck frowned as Mr. Walker continued speaking. "Two of her brothers are married, so the family line is gonna continue. But Sarah, she gets married, she's not a Walker anymore. So she's not gonna let herself get taken in by any sweet-talkin' fellow. Especially since all she'd get if she gets married is six head of cattle and fifty dollars in gold. Told her that plenty, and she doesn't wanna leave her only home. She's put too much of her blood and sweat into our ranch to leave us and start over."

Something about Mr. Walker's cold-blooded stance towards his only daughter made Chuck feel a wave of sympathy towards Sarah. How could a man profess to love his daughter, yet treat her so badly? To have such a low opinion of her, simply because she was a girl?

Mr. Walker peered at Chuck. "That seem clear enough to you, Bartowski? Marryin' my girl won't get you the keys to the kingdom."

"I understand, sir," Chuck said, gazing back at him. This man suddenly didn't seem so much better than Daniel Shaw. If this coldness was how he treated someone he loved, Chuck had to wonder how he'd treat an enemy like Shaw. But that was just a distraction. The real issue at hand was Sarah.

"Good!" Mr. Walker said, slapping Chuck on the shoulder. "Glad we had this chat, so we're on the same page."

Chuck nodded and watched as he walked away. Then he leaned back against the fence, mulling over this conversation.

He felt a wave of sadness, a deep empathy for what Sarah must feel. How hard must it be on Sarah, to know that if she got married she'd lose her family? And to feel like she wasn't bringing any material goods to her marriage? Getting married was about becoming partners, bringing together your souls and your possessions. At least, that's what he had always thought, from what he saw of Ellie and Devon, of the other happily married couples he'd seen. Did Sarah have any experience like that? Or had her father made her think her only value was her help on the ranch?

There was something about her that drew him in. His initial attraction to her was deepening, changing into something new that he'd never experienced before. It felt like she had formed a shell around her real self, hiding it away and keeping it safe. He wanted to know the real Sarah, the one that could get hurt and wanted more for her life. And he wanted her to know how special she was.

No one else in this town might realize it, but he did. And he was going to help her, any way he could.

End, Chapter 5


	6. Gaily Bedight

Chuck concentrated, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the target. He pressed the stock of the rifle against his shoulder as he braced for the recoil. Then, he held his breath and fired.

The crack of the gunshot split the air, but there was no tinkle of shattering glass. Chuck sighed in disappointment as once again, his shot went wide and didn't break the bottle that sat on the fence post fifteen feet ahead of him.

He turned to Morgan, who was sitting on the top rail of the fence that enclosed the small corral by the jail's stable. "What am I doin' wrong?" Chuck asked in frustration. "I sight the target, hold my breath, squeeze the trigger instead of jerking it . . ."

"Dunno, Chuck," Morgan said, pushing his hat back on his head. "But whatever you're doin' wrong, it's really wrong."

"I know," Chuck said, trying to keep his grumpiness out of his voice. It wasn't Morgan's fault that Chuck couldn't get this.

He had gotten to a point where he was comfortable shooting his sawed-off shotgun, yet it lacked precision. It was too easy to catch someone in the crossfire with the shotgun, so Casey had suggested that he practice using a rifle. After showing him the fundamentals of shooting, Casey had set Chuck to work on his own. But while Chuck could hold the rifle steady, control his breathing, and pull back evenly on the trigger, he was still missing his targets.

Casey hadn't been sympathetic. "If you're missin' your target, means you got a problem somewhere. You just gotta figure out where."

From Casey's words, he assumed he should make sure he was following all the rules. So Chuck went back to square one and focused on each step of shooting. He thought he had figured everything out, so tonight he had asked Morgan to watch him. So far, his friend hadn't seen anything really wrong, and Chuck was starting to get annoyed by his failure. He hated not being able to do something, especially when he was trying as hard as he could. In the past, he'd always been able to learn anything if he put his mind to it. But shooting continued to elude him.

Chuck sighed and put the safety on the rifle, then set it against one of the fence posts. He leaned against the fence next to Morgan, his shoulders slumped. "I just don't get it, buddy."

"Chuck, you're probably just thinkin' too hard. You gotta relax."

He took a deep breath, then blew it out. "You're right. I just, I don't want to make any mistakes. Not again."

"It's a lot harder to accidentally shoot someone with a rifle than with a shotgun," Morgan pointed out.

Chuck knew his friend was trying to be reassuring, but he didn't feel any better. He straightened up and picked up the rifle. "There's not much more light," he said, gesturing towards the sun rapidly sinking in the west. "I'll give it a few more tries."

Morgan nodded. "Atta boy, Chuck! You can do it! I have a good feelin' this time."

He couldn't help grinning a little at Morgan's encouragement and enthusiasm. Then he lifted the rifle and aimed for the bottle again. He lined up the target within the rifle's sights and slowly squeezed the trigger.

Yet again, he missed. He lowered the rifle and sighed, then looked at Morgan. "You really can't see what I'm doing wrong?" he asked Morgan plaintively.

Morgan shook his head, looking unhappy. "I'm sorry, Chuck, but I can't."

"I can."

At the sound of Sarah's voice, Chuck spun around. She was standing a few feet away from the fence, wearing her regular trousers and close-fitting shirt, her hat hanging down her back. Like always, Chuck felt that spark, that feeling that everything had become brighter now that Sarah was here.

Sarah smiled and walked towards them, folding her arms and resting them on the top of the fence rail. "I know what you're doin' wrong, Chuck."

"Tell me, please," Chuck said, giving her a small, embarrassed smile. "Because I'm stumped."

She grinned at him. "First, lemme see you shoot again. Make sure I've got it right."

"Okay," Chuck said with a swallow. He felt his nerves flutter to life at the thought of Sarah watching him. What if he failed again? Would she start to think less of him?

Hesitantly, he glanced over at Sarah, who had climbed up on the fence to sit next to Morgan. She gave him an encouraging smile, and he tried to smile back through his nerves.

Taking a deep breath, he turned and faced his target. He carefully raised the rifle and braced it, then sighted the target, making some slight adjustments. He held his breath and pulled back on the trigger.

Chuck felt crushed when he missed the bottle. How was he messing this up? He just didn't understand. Slowly he walked over to Sarah and tried to smile, tried not to appear as disappointed as he was.

"So, now you see how bad I am."

She grinned at him. "Honestly, you're not. Your mechanics are good, but I'd expect that for anyone taught by Casey."

"I've gotta be doing something wrong, though, 'cause I keep missing," he said, trying not to sound whiny.

"Yeah, you are," Sarah said. She looked at him for a moment, then said, "You're closing your eyes when you pull the trigger."

"What?" he asked in surprise.

Morgan groaned, reminding Chuck that his friend was still there. "Of course! I can't believe I missed it."

"It's just a flicker," Sarah said. "But it's long enough for you to lose aim on the target, and once you do that, you're just wastin' bullets."

Chuck frowned, thinking this over. The sheriff had implied his issues with shooting seemed to be mental. Casey said that flinching meant you weren't relaxed. So perhaps closing his eyes was a kind of flinch, and he didn't feel relaxed when he was holding a gun. It made sense. But he wasn't sure why shooting a gun bothered him more than using a knife. Maybe it was because the gun seemed so much more violent. If he became a good shot, it would be the last break with his old life. Ellie had always encouraged him to use his mind, not his fists, and she really hated guns. She would be so disappointed in him, if she could see him now.

Although maybe that wasn't fair to his sister. Ellie had high ideals, but she was also practical. And she loved him. She might not be happy with the way he had changed, but she'd support him. And although it was a hard change to make, he needed to learn how to shoot if he was going to stay in El Dorado. So he had to put aside what Ellie would have said and find a way to improve.

Sarah hopped down off the fence and walked over to him. "C'mon, I'll help you."

"How can I not close my eyes?" Chuck asked her. "It's an instinct, after all."

"You think you're the first person I taught?" Sarah asked, amusement in her voice. "I taught my three younger brothers how to shoot, not to mention half the kids my age. I even taught Morgan. And you're a lot smarter than he is."

"I was awful before Sarah showed me what to do," Morgan offered up.

Chuck managed a nervous grin. "Worse than me?"

Sarah lightly punched him in his shoulder. "None of that. Closin' your eyes is an easy problem to fix. Take your stance."

"Okay . . ." Chuck said warily, lifting the rifle and getting into position, turning his left side towards the target and bracing the rifle against his right shoulder. Sarah stood at his side, facing him. She ran her eyes over him, something he noticed out of the corner of his eye.

"Here," she said, raising her hands and pushing his right shoulder back a little. "Give yourself a bit more room." Then she ran her hands along the rifle and adjusted where his left hand was supporting the barrel of the gun.

He licked his lips, trying not to get distracted by the touch of her hands. "What about my eyes?"

"Easy, Chuck," she said softly, glancing up at him. "One step at a time."

Nodding his head, he took a deep breath. "Okay."

She smiled at him. "Close your eyes."

He arched his eyebrow but did what she said. He felt Sarah's hands settle over his hands lightly.

"Breathe," she said, her voice calm and quiet. "Imagine lining up the shot."

He took a breath like she told him, then focused on his memory of how it felt to have a bead on the target.

"Now hold your breath and imagine pulling the trigger," Sarah said. He felt his finger touch the trigger, caught up in the mental picture she was spinning.

"Got that picture?" she asked. He nodded. "Then open your eyes and aim."

Chuck swallowed and slowly opened his eyes, his gaze landing on her face. She smiled at him. "Go on, aim."

He nodded again and looked at the bottle through the sights.

"Got it, Chuck?" she asked, taking two steps back from him.

"Yes," he said, not wanting to nod and disturb his aim.

"Hold on to that feeling of making the shot," she said, her voice soft. "Then make it happen."

He gazed at the bottle for a long moment, letting everything fall away. His doubt, his lack of success, his awareness of Sarah. He focused and pulled the trigger.

He jumped as the loud gunshot was almost immediately followed by the sound of shattering glass. He lowered the gun, a huge smile dawning on his face, as he realized that he had hit it.

"I hit it!" he said, turning to Sarah with wide eyes.

She grinned at him. "Told you."

Unable to believe it, he turned to look at the glass shards littering the ground, then turned to Sarah. "I hit it!" he repeated, then pulled Sarah into a one-armed hug, still holding the rifle in his free hand. "Thank you!"

In his glee, it took him a moment to realize how close he was to Sarah. Once he did, he immediately let her go and took a step back, feeling his ears turn red. "Oh. Oh. That was-I'm sorry, I shouldn't take liberties like that-not that it was anything more than a hug, I swear."

Sarah's cheeks were flushed a light pink. "No, it's . . . It's okay, Chuck. I know you weren't trying anything." She ran her hands through her hair, then fiddled with her hat. "I need to get home before it gets dark." She looked at him quickly. "I think you've got the hang of shooting now."

Chuck nodded. "Yeah, yeah . . . the imagination thing really felt good." He looked at her. "I . . . I know you can handle yourself, but-but would you like me to ride with you out to your ranch?"

She seemed a bit flustered by his offer, her hands fidgeting more with her hat. "I don't need anyone to ride with me . . . and besides, you'd then be alone on the ride back to town."

"Morgan-Morgan could come along. Party of three!" Chuck said, stepping close to her. "Nice and safe for all of us." He looked at her, silently urging her to let him do this for her. He meant what he had said to her: Sarah Walker was perfectly capable of defending herself and staying safe. But that didn't mean he wanted her out there without anyone to watch her back.

She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded quickly. "Okay. Meet me in front of the jail."

"Okay," he said, smiling at her. "It'll take us a few minutes to saddle our horses, but we'll be right there."

"Right," she said, before turning and climbing over the fence. She walked out of sight, and Chuck turned to Morgan. "Buddy, I hope you don't mind me volunteering you-"

"Are you kidding?" Morgan asked, jumping off the fence and walking with him towards the stable. "I wouldn't miss seein' this for anything. Chuck Bartowski, gettin' the Wildcat to do what he asks."

"It's not like that," Chuck said, going into the stable and starting to saddle Newton. "I was worried about her, but I don't want her to think I don't respect her."

Morgan only grinned at Chuck as he saddled his horse. "Sure, Chuck."

Chuck sighed and focused on the buckles on his saddle.

XXX

The ride out to the Walker ranch started silent. Chuck felt nervous, unsure of what to say especially with Morgan riding along with them. Sarah seemed uncertain as well, shifting frequently in her saddle.

The nearly-full moon had broken through some cloud cover, shedding plenty of light for them. Chuck glanced over at Sarah and smiled sheepishly.

"I guess with this much light, you would have been fine."

She started a little at the sound of his voice, then laughed, her voice equally sheepish. "I suppose. But it's nice to have company."

Chuck nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

"What d'you mean?" she asked, looking at him.

He shrugged. "I've spent a lot of time alone over the last five years. Now that I've got friends again, I realize how much I missed having 'em."

"I've never really had friends."

The sadness in her voice, barely held in check, made him turn to look at her. She was looking straight ahead, her hand gripping the pommel of her saddle.

"Really?" he asked softly.

"I had my brothers," she said, glancing at him.

But brothers were no substitutes for friends, he thought. Another silence fell between them that lasted until they were approaching the edge of the Walker lands. Chuck glanced back at Morgan. He didn't know what he was looking for; maybe some encouragement or perhaps even a little commiseration. Morgan, though, seemed to be focused on sending him some kind of message. He was mouthing words that Chuck couldn't decipher. At his confused look, Morgan sighed and hissed at him.

"Spend some time with her!"

Chuck frowned, then looked at Sarah. The corners of her mouth were turned down, and her whole body seemed to emanate sadness. He didn't like seeing her sad.

"Sarah?"

His mouth went into action without waiting for his brain. She looked at him, a small wrinkle in her forehead.

"Would you like to have dinner with me?" Chuck asked, his words coming out in a rush.

Sarah stared at him. "What?"

He swallowed before repeating his question. "Would you like to have dinner with me?"

"You want to have dinner with me?" she asked in surprise. He nodded, and she looked at him before flushing. "I . . . um . . ."

He hadn't realized how much he wanted her to say yes until it seemed like she'd say no. "You don't have to say yes-it was just an idea, but if you're not interested-"

"Chuck!"

Sarah's voice sliced through his babble. He looked at her, seeing that there was a small smile on her face.

"Okay."

He felt a smile form on his face. "Yeah?"

She nodded. "Yes. We-we could have a picnic. Tomorrow night?"

Chuck smiled wider. "That sounds great. Meet you around seven?"

"That's good. I'll handle the food . . . can you meet me here? I'll take you to a nice spot for the picnic." Sarah looked like she was fighting hard to keep her smile under control.

He nodded his agreement and smiled at her. For a moment, Sarah let her smile beam out at him, brighter than the moon or the sun. "I'm fine from here. See you tomorrow, Chuck." With that, she aimed a well-placed heel to her horse's flanks and took off.

Chuck drew to a stop, watching how easily she handled her horse. Morgan pulled his horse up beside Chuck and looked at him. "Did you just ask her to dinner?" Morgan asked, sounding shocked.

"I did," Chuck said, knowing he was smiling like a loon.

"I just meant for you to slow her down! Take more time on the ride!" Morgan grinned. "But not you. You ask out Sarah 'Wildcat' Walker. Chuck, my man, you're crazy. Brave, but crazy."

"Don't start that, Morgan," Chuck said, wheeling his horse around and starting back for town. "I thought you liked Sarah."

"I do," his friend said. "But Sarah Walker's not like other girls."

"That's why I like her," Chuck retorted. "She's different. And I think she likes me."

"Oh, she does."

Chuck did a double-take. "What?"

"She definitely likes you, Chuck. She never touched me or anyone else when she was teachin' us to shoot. And . . ." Morgan's voice trailed off and Chuck looked at him closely.

"What, Morgan?"

"She talks to you, buddy. She doesn't talk to anyone like she talks to you."

Chuck thought over Morgan's words as they rode. "Her dad saw us talking the other day, then he got me alone. Do you know he said she'd never want to get married, since he'd barely give her anything to take with her and she'd worked too hard on their ranch?"

Morgan nodded. "Yeah. Mr. Walker's pretty cold."

"That's an understatement," Chuck said grimly.

"Chuck, he's not a nice guy, but you shouldn't be thinkin' about him right now. You should be thinkin' about Sarah."

And as the two of them rode back to the jail, Chuck found himself doing just that.

XXX

Chuck yawned and poured himself some coffee the next morning. It had taken him a long time to fall asleep, since his mind was whirring away with questions about his date with Sarah. Should he take her some kind of gift, like flowers or candy? What would they talk about? Maybe he should prepare some topics of conversation or memorize some poetry . . .

He groaned softly and shook his head. Quoting poetry was too much for a first date. He settled down in a chair and sipped his coffee, trying to wake up.

Casey stalked out of the jail's back room, looking grumpy. The sheriff followed him and took a seat at her desk.

"Where's Morgan?" Chuck asked.

"Talkin' to his informants," Casey said. "Nice of you to join us, kid, 'stead of sleepin' the day away."

He felt his ears go red in embarrassment. "Sorry."

"Don't pay no mind to Casey, Bartowski," Beckman said. "He's grumpy that I'm not lettin' him go ridin' out, guns blazin'."

Chuck looked back and forth between Casey and Beckman. "And why does Casey wanna do that?"

"We're startin' to get a picture of what's goin' on," the sheriff said. "The Walkers are still doin' their quick attacks against Shaw. But it seems this is a lot bigger than a fight over water rights."

He swallowed. "What d'you mean, Sheriff?"

Beckman sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Best as we can figure, Shaw's just part of the problem."

"He's gettin' letters from all over the state," Casey said gruffly. "Even some comin' from back East."

"That's not a crime . . ." Chuck said, trying to understand what they were getting at.

"Nope, but it's a bit suspicious," Casey said.

The sheriff picked up the story from Casey. "Shaw's in communication with a lotta dangerous folks. Given that no one here knows much about him, even after him livin' here for nearly ten years, it's troublin'."

"What do you think it could be?"

Beckman shrugged. "Dunno, Bartowski. But it bears watchin'."

Chuck nodded. "Yes, Sheriff."

"Keep your eyes open and be careful who you talk to," Beckman advised. She looked at him and her mouth quirked up in a smile. "Even when you're on a date."

Now Chuck could feel a blush take over his whole face, especially when Casey chuckled. "Finally made a move, huh, kid?" he asked, sipping his coffee.

"Um . . . yes, I guess," Chuck said, fumbling a little. "It's just dinner."

"A 'picnic dinner under the stars', according to Grimes," Casey smirked.

Chuck fought to hold back a groan over Morgan's loose lips. He had hoped to lay low today and slip out for his dinner with Sarah, but that wasn't to be.

"Go easy on him, Casey," Beckman said. She looked at Chuck. "You like the girl, you're doin' the right thing by showin' her that."

"Change of tune for you, Diane," Casey commented. "Wasn't it just the other day you were wantin' Bartowski to spy on her?"

"Can't deny it'd be handy, havin' an inside line on one side of this fight," Beckman said. "But Bartowski's not cut out for it, and he's put his foot down on that."

"That-that's right," Chuck said, trying to make his voice sound firm.

"Besides, it'd be more handy to have someone checkin' on Shaw, but he don't got any daughters that have caught your eye," Beckman said, standing up and pouring herself some coffee. "So enjoy your evening."

"Thank you, Sheriff," Chuck said. "I really appreciate it."

"Go get outta here," Beckman said. "Gertie rents baths, and you could use one."

Chuck grinned. "Yes, ma'am." He picked up his spare shirt and settled his hat on top of his curls, heading for the door.

"Kid?"

"Yeah, Casey?" he asked, pausing by the door.

"Get a haircut," Casey said tersely.

"Do I hafta?" he asked, knowing he sounded like a whiny kid.

"You look like some kinda wild man, cut off from civilization," he grunted.

Chuck glanced at the sheriff, who was smirking. "Wouldn't hurt to look tidy, Bartowski," she said.

With a sigh, Chuck nodded. "Okay."

XXX

Chuck took his time at Miss Gertrude's, enjoying his first real bath in a year. Then he stopped in at the town barber and got a shave and his hair trimmed. He barely recognized himself when he looked in the small mirror at the barber shop.

Instead of going right back to the jail and face Casey's teasing and Morgan's excitement, Chuck chose to kill some time in the general store. He splurged on a new shirt, but resisted buying Sarah anything. It was too early for that, and he didn't know if she liked flowers or candy. But while he was browsing through the store's wares, he noticed a small miniature globe.

He picked it up and looked at it, noting how accurate it was, even in such a small size. Impulsively, he bought it for Sarah. She wanted to see the world; perhaps this would give her some hope in the face of her father's disapproval.

It was just after six o'clock that Chuck was ready to go. He had changed into his new shirt, brushed the dirt off his trousers, and shined his boots. Before he had gotten cleaned up, he had spent some extra time currying Newton, making sure he looked his best, too.

After looking at the clock four times within three minutes, Chuck gave up and got out of his chair. "I'll be heading out now."

The sheriff looked up from the newspaper she was reading. "Have a good night."

Morgan hopped up from his chair and followed Chuck out to the stable. "You nervous, buddy? There's no need to be nervous. She is definitely interested, Chuck."

He breathed slowly as he saddled Newton, trying to keep himself under control. "Thanks, Morgan." He lead his horse out of the stable and mounted up.

"Okay, Chuck! Have fun!" Morgan waved eagerly at Chuck.

"See you later, Morgan," Chuck said tightly, lightly tapping Newton's flanks and directing him towards the road out of town and towards the Walker ranch.

He was really nervous. He'd never courted a girl, never had a woman express interest in him. Well, other than the fancy ladies he'd seen in saloons during his travels, but after the first time he had gotten an earful of pretty talk before being asked to pay up for more, he'd learned his lesson. He wanted something real.

Sarah was a good choice for something real, he thought. She was smart, savvy, and interesting. And she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. And he'd asked her to have dinner with him, and she'd agreed.

Chuck grinned to himself. Sarah Walker was going to have dinner with him. And not just any dinner, but an intimate picnic as the sun set.

He urged Newton on, sending him into a gentle canter. Soon, he reached the edge of the Walker property, and reined back on his horse. He knew he was a bit early, but ever since he had pawned his watch two years ago, he'd had to guess what time it was. It wasn't more than a ten minute wait, he guessed, so he chose to take shelter under some trees. Staying out of the sun would keep him from sweating through his new shirt.

Dismounting from his horse, he let Newton graze as he stretched. He looked around, taking in the view. It wasn't hard to see why Jack Walker had settled here. There was a great vista stretching out, the vastness of the land only interrupted by rock hills and stands of trees.

It was understandable, why Mr. Walker thought Sarah would never leave. That she'd stay here forever.

The sound of an approaching horse made him turn around. Grabbing Newton's reins, he stepped out from under the trees and watched Sarah ride towards him on her pinto. She pulled up and smiled. "Hi, Chuck."

He took a breath. "Hi, Sarah."

She wasn't wearing anything different from her normal clothes: buckskin trousers and a blue shirt that made her eyes look like the sky. But she took his breath away.

"Ready for dinner?" she asked, gesturing to the saddlebags on either side of her horse's neck.

He nodded. "Yeah. Yes, I'm ready." He smiled shyly at her, then climbed into the saddle.

"This way," she said, leading him away from the trees and over flat, level plains. She set a fast pace, preventing any conversation, but Chuck didn't mind. It gave him time to collect his thoughts, to calm his nerves as best as he could.

After a few minutes of riding, Sarah slowed her horse to a walk. She gave him a small smile. "Sorry for goin' so fast. I wanted us to get out of sight quick, so my brothers wouldn't butt in."

"Are they the protective type?"

Sarah grinned. "You could say that. They're all troublemakers-well, not Adam so much, now that he's married, but Matt and Mark and Johnny, they're all pains."

He sensed that she didn't really mean what she said-there was too much love, too much amusement, in her voice. He smiled back at her. "I was a bratty younger brother myself."

"Not really, though, were you?" she asked, leading them towards a rocky hill. They skirted to the side, their horses carefully picking their way over the stones.

"Oh, really. I used to read her diary and spy on her with her young man," Chuck said, raising his voice as she moved her horse ahead of his.

She grinned at him over her shoulder but didn't say anything else as they entered a clearing. Chuck looked around and immediately noticed a small pond. Thanks to the water, there was a thin yet hardy-looking grass surrounding the pond, as well as several trees. Best of all, it was encircled by rocks, lending an air of privacy to the spot.

He swung his leg over the back of his horse, dropping to the ground. "This is amazing," he said softly to Sarah. Something about it made him want to speak quietly.

"I know," she said, her voice low as well. "I found this place a few years ago but kept it to myself."

"I'd have kept it secret, too," he said, smiling at her. Sarah smiled back, then turned and lifted the saddlebags from her horse.

"There's a good tree over by the pond where we can tie the horses. Gives them water and grass," Sarah said, laying the saddlebags on the ground. Chuck nodded and followed Sarah to the tree, where they unsaddled their horses and left them to graze.

The sun was just starting to set when they came back to the bags. Sarah pulled out a faded Mexican blanket and handed it to him with a small smile. Following her unspoken directions, Chuck spread the blanket on the ground and watched as Sarah efficiently unpacked the saddlebags.

The food she spread across the blanket was a veritable feast: tortillas filled with beans and cheese, a small side of beef that was practically falling off the bone, and an apple and raisin cobbler. There was sweet, tart lemonade to go with the food.

Chuck let out a soft whistle as Sarah finished setting out the food. "Wow. This is amazing."

Sarah smiled softly. "Rosa was very excited when I asked her to put this together." She handed Chuck a plate and a tin knife and fork, then started putting food on her own plate. "She pulled out all the stops on this."

"Will you thank her for me? I already know Rosa's cooking is fantastic," Chuck said with a smile, piling his plate high. "That breakfast you sent over, it's something I dream about."

Sarah chuckled softly as she settled back on the blanket, her legs folded and her plate resting on her knee. "I will."

He smiled at her as he carefully settled in next to her. He loaded up his fork with some beef and took a bite, chewing happily. "Mmmm. Rosa is a miracle worker."

"She really is," Sarah said between bites of her food. She gave him a small smile, and he smiled back.

They settled into a comfortable silence, eating and drinking. Each bite was better than the last one, and the company was even better, Chuck thought. Once he had satisfied most of his hunger, he set his plate aside and leaned back on one hand, sipping his lemonade.

"That was very good," he said.

She nodded. "I'm glad you liked it," she said, stretching her legs out in front of her. Chuck couldn't help letting his eyes roam over the length of her legs-did all women have such long legs hidden under their skirts? He doubted that. He dragged his eyes away from her limbs, only to realize that she was watching him with an amused smile on her face.

His face went red and he took a long swallow of lemonade.

"Chuck?"

He took a breath and faced her. She looked thoughtful, nibbling softly on her lower lip. "I didn't get a chance to ask you yesterday, with Morgan bein' there, but . . . but what did my father say to you?"

This was a moment of truth. Should he keep quiet about what her father said and hope she didn't find out what Jack Walker thought of his only daughter? Or should he reveal what her father had said and risk hurting her?

Gazing at her face, he realized that he didn't want to keep anything from her. Even if it might backfire for him, he wanted to tell her the truth.

"He . . . he warned me that if I was interested in you in order to-to get rich, I should give up," Chuck said, trying to choose his words carefully. "He also thought that . . . well, he thought you've worked too hard on your family's ranch to ever want to leave by getting married."

Sarah listened to him, her face as still as a statue. Chuck felt a pang of sadness at having to hurt her, and he quickly reached out and rested his hand over hers. "I wasn't thinking like that, Sarah. Not at all."

It took her a moment to respond, for her body to lose that scary stillness. "No?" she asked softly, looking at him with sad eyes.

He shook his head quickly. "I'm sorry for hurting you, but you deserve to know the truth, and . . . and your dad doesn't know everything, Sarah. Just because he thinks something is one way doesn't mean that's how it is, and-and the only reason I have for spending time with you is because I like you."

Chuck was reassured that she didn't look so sad anymore. But she wasn't saying anything, and after exposing his feelings like that, he felt shy and uncertain.

A soft touch drew his eyes to their hands. Instead of his hand resting over hers, now she was holding his hand. He pressed his fingers against hers, enjoying the feel of her hand against his. He lifted his eyes to her face.

Sarah held his gaze for a moment. "Thank you for telling me." She paused and took a breath. "Not many people tell me the truth."

"I'm sorry," he said softly. He felt an urge to move closer to her, to comfort her somehow.

She shook her head. "You don't have to be sorry." She gave him a small smile and squeezed his hand gently.

"You're okay?" he asked, searching her face.

"You didn't tell me anything I didn't already know, Chuck," she said, her voice soft. "It was hard to hear, but . . . but yeah, I'm okay."

He took a breath. "Okay." He gave in to his instincts and inched closer to her. He looked at her. "You want to talk about something else?"

Sarah nodded quickly. "Yes. Tell me about California."

Chuck looked out over the landscape, taking in the way the setting sun lent color to the view. "In California . . . there's so much color. The blue of the sky, brown and tan in the mountains and the sandy soil, and every color flower that you can imagine." He looked at Sarah and saw that she was listening closely, as if she was hungry for every detail, no matter how small.

"In the springtime, the smell of the flowers is so strong. Everything's blooming and growing, and the scents-they get almost too strong, too powerful. But all the colors are really, really pretty."

"Is that your favorite time?" Sarah asked softly.

He smiled at her. "Actually, I like the fall better. The days get a bit cooler, and you like being outside again after all the heat of the summer."

Slowly, memories that he had forgotten came to mind as he spoke. Sarah was such a good listener: attentive, her eyes never leaving his, and asking questions occasionally. And it was so clear that she craved this kind of information. He thought of the longing in her voice when she had expressed her desire to travel. It was clear that she knew what she wanted, and what she wanted was to see the world.

He kept talking as the sun slipped below the horizon and the sky became a soft purple. The heat of the day faded away and the air quickly became chilly. Sarah shivered in her short-sleeved shirt and Chuck stopped talking.

"Oh-you must be cold. Here, here-" Chuck moved, collecting the plates and dishes from their picnic and moving them off the blanket. Then he picked up the blanket and wrapped it around Sarah's shoulders. "Better?" he asked, looking at her.

One of her hands snaked out to hold the blanket around her. Sarah smiled at him. "A lot better. Thank you." She sighed regretfully. "Although I suppose it's time for us to wrap this up."

"Yeah," Chuck said, wishing he didn't have to agree with her. But she was right-it was getting late.

They worked together to pack the dishes into the saddlebags, then Chuck and Sarah resaddled their horses. Chuck lifted up the saddlebags and set them into position on Sarah's horse. Then, he turned to look at her. He felt another stab of shyness, but even stronger was the happiness he felt. This had been a perfect evening: full of good conversation and good food and lots of smiles. And they'd even held hands.

"I feel like I did all the talking tonight," Chuck said, scuffing the toe of his boot against the ground.

"Because I was asking you questions," Sarah said, smiling softly at him.

He gazed at her, taking in just how pretty she was in the moonlight. "Maybe . . . maybe we could do this again and I could ask you questions?"

It felt like he waited a thousand years for her answer, but it was probably only a moment or two. Then, she smiled wider and nodded her head. "I'd like that."

Chuck felt a smile spread over his face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she repeated, still nodding her head.

There was a buzz in his ears that sounded like music, making him want to dance. She wanted to spend more time with him!

He smiled at her. "That's-that's really great. When?"

"I . . . I don't know," Sarah said, looking a bit nervous. "It'll depend on when I think I can get away again."

"I don't like sneaking around . . ." Chuck said, gazing at her. "I'd rather do this honestly."

"Me, too, but just gimme some time, Chuck." She looked at him, raising her chin. "We'll make it honest soon, I swear." Chuck found himself nodding, swayed by her determination. She smiled at him softly. "Thanks."

He could feel his present for her resting heavily in his pocket, so he took a deep breath. "I got you something."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You did?"

Chuck nodded. "Yeah. I wasn't sure if you'd like flowers or chocolates, so . . ." He drew out the globe and held it out to her.

Sarah took it carefully and held the globe up to the light from the moon. He held his breath, waiting to see what her reaction was. Perhaps it was a stupid idea . . .

When she looked at him, he was surprised to see how bright her eyes were. He swallowed. "Do you like it?"

Her voice was a bit choked. "I love it. Thank you." She looked at him for a moment, and then she moved close to him and rested her free hand lightly on his chest. "And I had the best time tonight, Chuck."

His heart was pounding so hard, he was sure Sarah could feel it under her hand. He had to clear his throat before he could answer. "You-you're welcome, Sarah."

She smiled softly at him. Then, to his surprise, she lifted herself up on her toes and pressed her mouth against his.

Chuck closed his eyes, his heart beating even faster. Her lips were soft and warm, and they felt so good against his. He gently pressed against her mouth, hoping he was doing this right. He'd never really kissed anyone, and . . .

All his thoughts drifted away as he kept kissing Sarah. Because it was impossible to think of anything but her.

End, Chapter 6


	7. Singing a Song

As he rode back to town, Chuck felt like he was floating. His whole body seemed to be singing with joy, and everything felt right.

Sarah liked him. She wanted a relationship with him. And she had kissed him.

How did he get so lucky? As he let Newton ramble back to El Dorado, Chuck's mind kept turning over that question. He'd found a new home and new friends, and now a woman he could fall in love with. Through all those years of searching for Ellie's killers, he'd never really planned for what would happen next, never thought about his future beyond his quest. Once he'd finished the job, he'd felt lost and aimless for a while. Yet somehow, he had lucked into this rich new life, and Chuck knew that it would take a herd of wild horses to drag him away from his dreams for his future.

Having a purpose and friends was pretty good. But now, having Sarah . . . it was like getting a present at Christmas you never thought you'd get.

After that first kiss, Sarah had given him a big smile, one that lit up her whole face and made her even more beautiful in Chuck's book. It had taken him a moment to recover from that kiss; he was pretty sure he just stood there, his lips pursed and his eyes dazed.

"Looks like I've made you speechless," she had said, her voice amused and her smile bright, but there was something shy in her eyes. He could only grin back and nod until he found his voice.

"You sure did."

Sarah had laughed and lightly kissed his cheek. "I have to go. I'll see you soon."

"Okay," he had said in agreement, watching her mount her horse. "Be careful."

"I'm just ridin' over there!" Sarah had said, grinning at him as she gestured over her shoulder. "Don't turn into a worrywart on me, Chuck."

He had grinned shyly, not wanting to tell her that something about her brought out a protective side in him. It was silly, since she was more capable of protecting herself than he was. But he still wanted her to be safe.

"C'mon," she had said, smiling at him. "Mount up and follow me out, so I can point you home."

He had followed her directions, and now he was slowly riding back towards the jail, reliving the whole wonderful night. Tonight felt like the start of a new chapter for him, the real beginning to his life as an adult. It was a good feeling.

A chilly breeze picked up, so Chuck gathered his reins and nudged Newton into a trot. Once he arrived back in El Dorado, he made his way to the stable and unsaddled his horse. Giving Newton a carrot along with his oats, he covered him with a clean blanket before leaving the stable. As he walked out, he took a deep breath to enjoy the cool air in his lungs. He knocked three times on the back door of the jail and waited.

The door was yanked open, revealing Casey. "'Bout time, loverboy. Get in here."

Chuck swept his hat off as he walked in, grinning widely at the older man. "Casey, why aren't you ever happy? You've got Miss Gertrude."

Casey grunted. "'Cause I'm a grown-up, and in grown-up world, we got problems that young love ain't gonna solve."

He frowned and followed Casey into the office area, where Morgan was slumped down in a chair, his head hanging. The sheriff was sitting at her desk, her eyes troubled and her face drawn.

Casey dropped down into a chair, and Chuck looked at them curiously. "What's going on? You all look so worried."

Beckman looked at Chuck and spoke quietly. "After you left, Morgan came back with some information. We know who's leadin' the raids on Shaw's place."

"That's good, isn't it?" Chuck asked, running his eyes over their faces, trying to figure out why a cloud was hanging over all of them. "Why aren't we celebrating? Or going after who's responsible?"

Morgan's eyes were red when he lifted his head and looked at Chuck. He looked really upset, and Chuck's worry level ratched up by a factor of ten.

Once again, it was the sheriff who spoke. "It's Sarah."

Chuck felt an icy chill settle over him, one that had nothing to do with the cool air that slipped in through the cracks in the jail's adobe walls. "What?"

"Looks like your gal wasn't content just tryin' to shoot Shaw-she wants to totally destroy him," Casey said, his voice hard.

"No, no," Chuck said, shaking his head. "I don't believe that."

"Cole Barker said she brought in a horse yesterday that was spooked," Morgan said, his voice scratchy. "Flinched whenever he heard gunfire. And Mr. Granger said that Sarah's been buyin' a lotta ammunition."

"That's not enough proof that she's leading the raids!" Chuck insisted, feeling his hands grow clammy.

Beckman sighed. "Chuck, we got a description from one of Shaw's servants. She was in town earlier and overheard Morgan askin' questions in the store. She cornered him outside and told him she saw a blonde woman leadin' the latest attack, night before last." The sheriff looked at him, her eyes sympathetic. "That's enough for me."

Chuck swallowed. "Wh-what are you gonna do?"

"For now, nothing," Beckman said, rising from her seat. "Not about the raids. 'Cause that servant of Shaw tipped us off to somethin' a lot worse."

"Worse?" he repeated, feeling his legs grow shaky. He took a seat and looked up at the sheriff, waiting impatiently as she poured herself a cup of coffee and sipped it.

"We knew that something was goin' on," Beckman said. "We've got confirmation now. Looks like Shaw was encouraged to start this fight with Walker on behalf of his employers."

"His employers?" Chuck asked with a frown. He hated feeling left out like this, like he was the dumb kid in the class. But there wasn't much he could do about that now, since they knew what was going on and he didn't know yet.

"Don't know the full story yet, but Shaw's boss is plannin' a bunch of fights to gain control over Texas," Casey said. "The fight between Shaw and the Walkers was the first one."

"They wanna monopolize the cattle trade," the sheriff said, perching on the corner of her desk. "And all the land that they can grab to boot."

"So if one thing doesn't work out, the other one does," Chuck said, starting to put the pieces together. "You need land for cattle, but you can use land for a lot of things."

"Yep," Beckman said, taking another sip of coffee. "We dunno how much land they've got, not yet. But Morgan's gonna help us with that."

Chuck looked at his friend in surprise. Morgan, his face flushed, explained. "Alejandra-that's the girl-she's gonna sneak us some of Shaw's letters."

"That's pretty dangerous."

"She knows that, but she wants to help," Morgan said.

"Once we get that info from the girl, we'll take the next step," Beckman said.

XXX

Chuck found himself struggling often over the next two days. He worried a lot about the situation with Shaw, waiting impatiently for more news. Yet if he was honest with himself, he was using this as a distraction from the real problem: Sarah.

How could she be the one to lead the attacks on Shaw's ranch? She had to realize that there was only so long that such raids could go on before someone figured out who was responsible for them. And now that the sheriff knew it was Sarah, Beckman was sure to take action at some point. Even with the news about Shaw being part of a monopoly, the sheriff couldn't let such lawlessness go on for very long. It was just a matter of time before Sarah got arrested, and then what would happen to her?

There was also another thing that was eating at Chuck: the fact that Sarah hadn't said a word to him about this. He couldn't help feeling a little hurt, even if logically he could understand why she had kept quiet. They were still getting to know each other. She didn't know how he'd react and was probably hesitant to tell anyone outside her family about her activities. What's more, since he worked for the sheriff, Sarah would probably think that he was duty-bound to turn her in if she confessed to leading the raids against Shaw.

He knew all this in his head. But in his heart, he wondered if this meant their relationship was doomed. Trust was the foundation of any relationship, whether it was friendship or romance. If Sarah didn't trust him, this thing between them was bound to fall apart. And that was the last thing he wanted.

With a sigh, Chuck pulled himself off his bunk. Laying around and moping wasn't helping him come up with a solution to his problems. He couldn't keep hiding from Sarah. He hadn't left the jail over the last two days except to use the privy. It was past time for him to get back to his normal routine. Perhaps some shooting practice would help him concentrate on something else.

Chuck picked up a rifle from the gun rack and carried it outside. He set up a few targets and let himself get lost in the rhythm of aiming and firing. It was funny, but shooting was now soothing. It let himself focus on something else, and he found his mind calming down.

After a half hour of shooting, he had run out of ammunition, destroyed several bottles and cans, and there wasn't enough light to go on. Chuck took a few deep breaths, savoring the fresh air. He finally felt ready to do his job.

Stepping into the jail through the back door, Chuck sat at the table in the anteroom, joining Casey. The older man looked up from the knives he was sharpening as Chuck started cleaning the rifle.

"You ready to work now?"

"I was doing work here, watching the jail and helping with paperwork," Chuck said, looking at Casey. "But . . . yeah, I'm ready."

Casey nodded. "Don't always have the luxury of fallin' apart, you know."

Chuck focused on removing some soot from the barrel of the rifle, giving himself a moment before reacting to Casey's criticism. "I know. But I haven't fallen apart." He looked up at Casey. "I'm gonna do my job."

"And what d'you think that is? You ain't a deputy."

"Neither are you," Chuck retorted. "But I'm still working here, so I'm going to uphold the law."

Casey grunted. "Think you can get the Wildcat to lay off?"

Shrugging, Chuck looked back down at the rifle. "Don't know. But I have to try, at least."

The other man set down his knives and looked at Chuck. "You asked why I wasn't happy, even though I got Gertrude."

Chuck paused and looked at Casey, surprised by him bringing up the subject. "You seem pretty happy with her . . . I don't know."

"We've known each other twenty years," Casey said. "Not much I don't know 'bout her. Includin' how to get on her last nerve. Sometimes, I hafta do that, get her to throw me over."

"But why would you do that?" Chuck asked, completely confused. "Why would you want Miss Gertrude to break up with you?"

"Easier," Casey said with a grunt. "Keeps things from gettin' too serious."

Chuck sat back in his chair as it became clear. Casey was scared of settling down. He didn't want to stay in one place, have a real relationship with Miss Gertrude, and take the risk of having something good that ended before he was ready.

He could understand that, but it sounded pretty sad.

"She knows how to work me over, too," Casey said. "'Cause she's no different from me. Neither of us wanna be tied down."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Course I'm sure," Casey said, sounding grumpy. He picked up his knives and focused on sharpening them, putting an end to their conversation.

Chuck picked up a rag and went back to cleaning the rifle, contemplating what Casey had said.

XXX

Later that night, a light tap came on the back door. Chuck was the closest to it, so he walked over to it and called out, "Who is it?"

"Alejandra," came a soft, Spanish-accented voice. Casey nodded in response to Chuck's silent request for confirmation, so Chuck opened the door.

A slim, short woman with long dark hair gazed up at him, then stepped inside quickly. Chuck shut the door behind her and followed her into the front of the jail. Morgan immediately jumped to his feet and started talking to Alejandra softly in Spanish.

It looked to Chuck like Morgan definitely had a crush. When he saw Alejandra smile shyly at Morgan, he knew that the crush went both ways.

Chuck dropped down in a chair, waiting for Morgan and Alejandra to finish talking. The sheriff, though, wasn't so patient.

"Well?" she asked tartly, perching on a corner of her desk.

Morgan jumped a little, breaking off his conversation with Alejandra. "Oh. Well, Alejandra has some letters that she thought might be important." He nodded to Alejandra, and she reached into her apron pocket, pulling out a small stack of papers. She hesitantly handed them to the sheriff. Beckman picked up her glasses and took the papers, immediately starting to read.

Casey walked over and leaned against the desk beside Beckman. "Whaddya see, Diane?"

The sheriff took a few moments to reply. "'Bout what we thought." She passed the first letter to Casey once she was done reading, then looked at Chuck. "You copy the letters when we're done reading each of 'em. We're gonna make sure we have evidence, even if Shaw burns 'em."

Chuck nodded and walked over to sit down at the sheriff's desk. As Casey passed him each letter, he quickly copied it. As he wrote, he picked up quite a bit of information. The letter writers were careful to not mention names; each letter was signed by just an initial, and it seemed like the writers were trying to keep things as vague as possible. But the sheriff's speculation was correct: they were trying to gain land and water rights, positioned strategically throughout Texas. Most of the areas were in West and North Texas, close to the cattle trails leading to the Kansas stockyards and railroads.

Beckman muttered to herself as she passed the last letter to Casey. "It's genius. Buy up spreads throughout the state, ones close to the Great Western and Chisholm Trails, and no one would be the wiser that all the land and cattle are really owned by a syndicate."

Casey nodded. "Slick as shit through a goose."

The sheriff chuckled dryly. "Yeah." She looked at Alejandra, then at Morgan. "I'm obliged to you, Alejandra, for bringin' these to us."

Morgan quickly translated the sheriff's words, then waited for Alejandra's response. "She says you're welcome, Sheriff. And that she hopes you can arrest Shaw soon, 'cause he's a bad man."

Beckman nodded. She collected the original letters from Chuck and handed them to Alejandra. "Yeah. Grimes, tell her that if she gets scared or thinks something bad's gonna go down, she should come here and we'll keep her safe. Then you get her back to Shaw's ranch."

"Yes, Sheriff," Morgan said, turning to Alejandra and speaking quickly as he lead her towards the back door of the jail.

"We got lucky, Grimes makin' friends with that girl," Casey said as the door closed behind Morgan and Alejandra.

She nodded. "Yeah. Now we've got evidence for when Graham comes back."

Chuck leaned back in his chair, flexing his writing hand. "What are we gonna do now?" he asked quietly.

Beckman sighed. "We know locations, but not names. But I'm thinkin', if we could get out there, gather some info from other sheriffs, Casey's contacts . . . we might be able to do more than just take out Shaw."

Casey looked at the sheriff appraisingly. "Take down the whole organization, 'stead of just one man."

"You got it," Beckman said. "You up for it, Casey?"

He nodded. "I know a few guys along the Red River. They'll give me the real deal."

"There's a couple sheriffs that would do the same." Beckman looked at Chuck for a moment, then looked back to Casey. "Take Grimes with you. Too dangerous for just you to go, Casey."

He grunted and stood up, rubbing his lower back. "Yeah, okay. Might have to scare him into shuttin' his yap, just to get some peace and quiet."

The sheriff chuckled. "Just as long as you don't scare him to death."

"What about me, Sheriff?" Chuck asked.

"You'll stay and help keep things quiet. All this is gonna depend on Shaw not gettin' any signs of what we're up to. Casey's always comin' and goin', people expect that. We'll put 'round that Morgan's visitin' his family down south."

"Don't think Shaw will find that mighty coincidental?" Casey asked.

Beckman shrugged. "It's been a few years since he went away. I can sell it, and Grimes . . . well, he knows when to keep his mouth shut."

Casey nodded. "When you want us to leave?"

"Sooner the better. Day after tomorrow at the latest."

"Then I'm gonna get to work," Casey said, rising up from his spot on the desk. He went into the back room of the jail, and the sheriff turned to look at Chuck.

"This ain't a punishment, Bartowski," she said. "I could use you here, but only if you're over this mopin'."

Chuck took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Sheriff. I didn't . . . I just had a hard time accepting the truth."

"I got that," she said, her voice a little sympathetic. "But you're gonna hafta learn to deal with things faster, since I need you as a deputy."

He looked at her in surprise. "You want me as a deputy?"

"You're gettin' better at shooting, accordin' to Casey and Morgan. And you've got a good head on your shoulders. If you're willin', you're hired: ten dollars a month plus room and board. Interested?"

It took Chuck a moment to think this over. When he had first arrived, he'd had no interest in being a deputy, risking his life in a town where he barely knew anyone. But now, between his new friends and his interest in Sarah, even though he didn't know how that relationship would turn out, he knew this was where he wanted to settle.

Chuck nodded. "Yeah, I'm in."

The sheriff stood up and rummaged around in one of her desk drawers. "Then here you go." She handed him a tin badge in the shape of a star. "Raise your right hand. Do you solemnly swear to uphold the laws of the town of El Dorado, in the county of Pecos, in the great state of Texas?"

"I do," Chuck said, grinning at the sheriff. He pinned the badge on his shirt and took a moment to admire it.

"Looks good," Beckman said with a grin. "Still a good place for the bad guys to aim when they wanna shoot you."

Chuck did a double-take at the sheriff's words. "Wh-what?"

Beckman didn't say anything, just laughed as she walked into the back room.

XXX

Late the next night, Morgan rode away towards the south. The plan was for Morgan to look like he was heading for Mexico to visit his mother's people, but instead he'd loop around to the east after he was a few miles out of El Dorado.

"Grimes isn't much, but he's loyal as hell," the sheriff said once Morgan had left. "He'll be handy to have around."

"Only if I wanna get my ear talked off," Casey said gruffly. "But I suppose he'll be useful with the lawmen."

"Yep, Morgan knows how to treat a sheriff," Beckman said with a grin. "There's a few other sheriffs I trust, and a few that I don't trust, but I know they ain't crooked. And none of 'em have any love lost with little men tryin' to be big, like this bunch of Shaw's."

Armed with letters from the sheriff, Casey rode out in the morning, heading due east. He was due to meet Morgan there, and then the two of them would start gathering info.

Now that it was just Chuck and the sheriff, the workload got a lot heavier. It gave Chuck a new respect for Morgan, hanging in there and staying on with the sheriff when she went through her rough patch. Because with just two of them, it was hard to keep El Dorado safe.

They spent most of their time patrolling on foot and on horses. But even with their presence out on the streets, a rash of petty crimes broke out: horses taken from their stables and put in different ones, rail fences taken apart and the logs stacked in neat piles, and water troughs emptied and flipped over all over town.

It took them a day or so to track down the youngsters responsible, making Beckman snappish. Once all the kids had been rounded up, and fines extracted from their parents, things settled down. But the longer it was since Casey and Morgan had left, the more frustrated she became.

Chuck did his best to stay out of her way and not ask fool questions, as the sheriff put it. That meant a lot of reading and quite a few hands of solitaire. It also gave him plenty of time to think about Sarah.

He couldn't fault her for doing her best to protect her family, to do her part to help them. But leading attacks against Daniel Shaw wasn't the way to do it. It was too risky, and what was the point of the attacks? To annoy Shaw? Chuck didn't think anything annoyed Daniel Shaw. He was too much of an automaton for things like normal human emotions.

Putting aside the issue of Shaw, Chuck felt that he had to broach the issue of the raids with Sarah. He couldn't let her keep taking such big chances. Not just because he was interested in her, but because it was a dumb thing to be doing in the middle of this stalemate.

Maybe she had changed her mind. It had been five days since the last attack, the longest period without activity since the raids had started. But she deserved to know that he knew the truth. He didn't want to keep secrets from her.

He just needed to find an opportunity to talk to her. There hadn't been any sign of her in town over the last few days. He just hoped that when he got the opportunity, he wouldn't make a mess of it.

XXX

Out of the corner of his eye, Chuck saw a flash of blonde hair. He turned and realized it was Sarah, walking out of the stagecoach depot. Leaving the sheriff talking to Doc Wood, Chuck hurried down the street and caught up with Sarah as she was about to mount her horse.

"Sarah," he said, trying to catch his breath from his unexpected hurry.

She turned her head and looked at him, smiling a little. "Hi, Chuck."

He felt his face flush and not just from his run as he looked at her. The memory of their kiss seemed to hang between them, suddenly front and center in Chuck's mind. He cleared his throat, trying to push the memory away so he could focus on the important thing: talking to Sarah.

"Do you have a minute to talk?" he asked her, looking down at her.

It might have been his imagination, but her eyes lost a little bit of their sparkle at his words.

Sarah wrapped the reins of her horse back around the hitching rail, and Chuck walked over to the rail fence surrounding the corral, the site of the talk that was interrupted by her father. He lifted himself up onto the top rail, taking a seat. Sarah joined him, gracefully hoisting herself up to sit next to him.

Chuck gave himself a moment to collect his thoughts, to find a place to begin this conversation. It'd be easier to just say it straight out, but he felt like he had to do this carefully.

"So . . . I'm a deputy now," he said slowly.

She nodded. "I saw the star," she said, gesturing to his badge. "How does it feel?"

"Pretty good. It's hard work, but . . . but I like it," he said, looking at her.

"Yeah?" she asked, squinting as she looked at him, the sun full in her face.

He nodded, momentarily at a loss for words. He wished he could kiss her. Just lean over and press his lips against her, forget all about Shaw and her father and everything.

Chuck took a deep breath. "Sarah . . . there's something I need to talk to you about."

She narrowed her eyes. "Chuck, just spit it out. Stop dancin' around whatever you wanna tell me."

That was just so Sarah, he thought, ducking his head a little. She wasn't one to beat around the bush, and he should do the same.

He squared his shoulders and faced her. "The sheriff knows who's leading the raids against Shaw's ranch. She has an eyewitness who says it's a blonde woman."

Sarah's face was impassive. "Is that so?"

Chuck nodded. "Yeah." He looked at her for a moment, then leaned in towards her a little and lowered his voice as he spoke. "Sarah, I don't think you should do any more attacks."

"That's what you think, huh?" she asked, her voice low and angry. "And why's that? 'Cause you think it's unseemly for a woman to be leadin' the attacks? Or 'cause it doesn't fit with your mental picture of the kinda girl you wanna be with?"

"No, no," Chuck said, stumbling over his words. "It's not about that-Sarah, these raids, they're dangerous! And what are you getting in return?"

"We're keepin' the pressure on Shaw," Sarah said, her body tensing. "He's gotta know that we're not gonna let up."

"He knows that," Chuck insisted. "The fact that Beckman arrested him, that tells him that he can't get away with anything illegal."

Sarah laughed bitterly. "Oh, yeah, he's real scared of Beckman," she said.

"She's a good woman and a good sheriff," Chuck said quietly, not willing to let even Sarah insult Beckman.

Sarah snorted. "Of course you think that, Deputy Bartowski." Her words were cutting and Chuck swallowed, fighting against his self-doubt.

"I think this plan is full of risks and almost no reward," Chuck said, trying to hide his feelings and be logical. "You've already gotten some injured horses, and you're drawing attention to yourself. If Shaw comes to the sheriff and says he knows that it's you leading the raids, you'll get arrested."

"Shaw's not gonna come cryin' to the sheriff about gettin' nuisanced every once in a while," Sarah said, her jaw set in a stubborn line.

"You don't know that," Chuck said, trying to get through to her. "And what if you got hurt, or somebody else?"

"I can take care of myself, and I can take care of my people," Sarah retorted quickly.

"What if you hurt someone else? Some innocent bystander, like a servant of Shaw's?" Chuck thought of Alejandra, of her big brown eyes and the way she looked at Morgan. He'd hate for Sarah to have on her conscience injury to an innocent.

"If they're workin' for Shaw, they've picked their sides."

"That's not fair," Chuck argued. "People that need work, they just care about their jobs, not about choosing sides."

"They still gotta choice, and they've made it," Sarah repeated.

"You are so stubborn!" Chuck said, feeling his frustration at a breaking point. "Can't you listen to what I'm saying? I'm worried about you."

Sarah pushed herself off the fence, walking backward as she moved away from him. "You got no reason to worry. I've been takin' care of myself since I was six, and I'm not about to stop. Not for anything."

Chuck jumped down and followed her. "I don't doubt that, Sarah. But if you know how to take care of yourself, why the hell are you doing something so hare-brained as attacking Shaw? This is all gonna end badly. Really, really badly, and I don't want you to get hurt."

Her eyes snapped, full of fury. "Your concern is touchin'," she said. "But you can stop worrying."

"No, I won't," Chuck said, eating up the distance between them and grabbing her wrist. "I can't stop worrying-Sarah, c'mon." He leaned down towards her, searching her eyes for any sign that she was listening to his pleas.

"You're too important to me," he said softly.

She yanked her arm away from him. "You've got no idea what's at risk here, really. If Shaw wins, he'd take my family's ranch, kick all of us out. Leave us with nothing. If there's anything I can do to stop that from happening, I'm gonna do it."

"I know, Sarah," he said, trying to not let her leave. Not like this, full of anger and ready to throw away what they might have. "I get that. Why do you think I spent five years going after my sister's killers? Because she was the only family I had, and I wasn't gonna let her death go unpunished."

Finally, finally, he saw his words start to penetrate her hard shell. Sarah took a deep breath, apparently struggling to find some calm. She took her hat off, running her hand through her hair. "Yeah. You know how important family is," she said, the anger gone from her voice. "So you know why I wanna do my part."

He spoke softly and gently, trying to keep this moment from slipping away. "All I'm asking is that you think about what these raids are for and figure out if they're worth the danger. I don't think they are. I think there's better ways to take Shaw down, legal ways. And do you and your family really wanna sink to his level? I don't think you do. So . . . just, please, reconsider the attacks."

She looked at him for a long moment. Then she nodded quickly. "I'll think about it."

He couldn't help a big grin at her words. "That's all I'm asking for. Thank you."

"Nothin' to thank me for," Sarah said, pulling her hair up and tucking it under her hat. "I should go-I was expected at home a while ago."

He nodded. "Right. I . . . I'll be seeing you." He looked at her for a long moment, wishing this conversation had gone a bit differently. Less anger, more actual discussion. Maybe that way, he'd feel brave enough to take her hand and squeeze it gently, or even kiss her cheek. Show her that she had his support. But it wasn't the right time for any of those overtures, so he stepped back and gave her a small smile.

"Right," she said, looking a bit uncomfortable. "See you later, Chuck." She turned and walked back to the hitching rail, quickly untying her horse and swinging up into the saddle. Without another word, she galloped off.

Chuck watched her ride away, marveling yet again at how capable she was. How she gave as good as she got. She got angry easily, she was stubborn, and she reacted instinctively without thinking. She was the opposite of him; he thought about everything, deliberated and pondered what action he should take.

His feelings for Sarah hadn't changed. It had seemed so easy when they were out in the moonlight, talking and laughing and kissing during their date. But now they were in the cold light of day, and everything that seemed simple wasn't so simple anymore. A relationship with Sarah had suddenly become very, very difficult.

End, Chapter 7


	8. This Knight So Bold

As twilight fell over El Dorado, Chuck walked through the streets. With only himself and the sheriff, they had to split up on patrols by each taking half of town. He didn't mind that much: it let them finish up quicker and gave Chuck more experience handling problems on his own. Now that he was a deputy, he had to step up more.

And maybe that idea of stepping up more applied to other things than his job.

Chuck sighed as he swept his eyes along the street, nodding to the people he saw. So far, his job was working out pretty well. But his relationship with Sarah, if it could be called that, was in limbo.

It had been several days since he had talked to Sarah about the raids on Shaw's ranch. Since then, there had been no further attacks, which was the only good thing to come out of that conversation. Because since then, whenever he saw Sarah, she ignored him. Acted like he wasn't even there. After two attempts to get her to talk to him, Chuck had let things settle into an uncomfortable status quo.

When he reached Miss Gertrude's saloon, he decided to step inside. There hadn't been any trouble with Miss Gertrude's place, not with Miss Gertrude running things, but it wouldn't hurt to show some lawman presence, he thought. Besides, it was the last stop on his patrol, and with all the work lately, he could use a nice, relaxing drink.

Walking in, it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dimly-lit saloon. Miss Gertrude kept the shutters over the windows, allowing only slivers of fading sunlight to brighten the room. A large gas chandelier in the middle of the room threw flickering light over the poker tables and the bar, providing the only real light in the saloon.

Chuck walked up to the bar and took a seat on a stool that was situated near one end, trying to blend in. As he took his hat off, he nodded to the female bartender. "Whiskey, please. And is Miss Gertrude around?"

"Who's asking?" said the bartender in a thick Spanish accent, brushing some dark hair out of her eyes. She poured Chuck a glass of whiskey and slid it across the bar to him.

"Chuck Bartowski, ma'am," he said before taking a sip.

"I'll see," the bartender said, walking away and heading towards a door located by the other end of the bar.

"Thank you!" he called after her. He hunkered down on his stool, taking slow, small sips of his whiskey. He knew that alcohol affected him quickly, so he didn't want to overindulge.

It only took a few moments before Miss Gertrude walked out through the door and joined him at the bar. She took a seat on a stool next to Chuck's. "Charles Bartowski. What brings you to my saloon?" Miss Gertrude gestured to the bartender, who immediately put down a glass of whiskey in front of her.

"Put her drink on my bill," Chuck said to the bartender, then held his glass up to Miss Gertrude. "I wanted to ask something of you. Enlightenment, I guess."

Miss Gertrude smiled, a crafty yet friendly smile. She lifted her glass up. "To enlightenment, then."

Chuck smiled and lightly tapped his glass against hers, then took a sip.

"Would I be right if I said your need for enlightenment is motivated by a certain challenging woman, Charles?"

He ducked his head, feeling his face flush. "It's that obvious?"

"I'm a saloon-keeper, Charles. A damn good one, which means I notice things," Miss Gertrude said, looking at him over the rim of her glass. She took a much larger sip of whiskey than what he'd been taking, then set her glass on the bar. "What's bothering you?"

Running a hand through his hair, he decided to throw himself on her mercy. "You're right that it's about a woman." He sighed. "There's something about Sarah that just . . . she draws me in, makes me feel so alive. Yet we're so different. It seems like eventually, the way she makes me feel wouldn't be enough to overcome our differences."

Miss Gertrude tilted her head to one side. "What differences do you see between the two of you?"

Chuck took a swallow of whiskey, trying not to cough. "Well . . . she's impulsive, quick to act. I think things over a lot. It takes me a really long time to decide what to do. She gets angry really easily, but I don't. And . . . and I don't know if we want the same things. I want to settle down, live in one place, but she's only ever lived here. She's told me she wants to travel and see the world."

"Hmmm," Miss Gertrude said, rubbing her thumb against the bar. "That sounds like a lotta differences."

"It is," Chuck said. "I mean, I think Sarah's beautiful, and smart, and really strong. I admire how she doesn't let anything hold her back. And when she kissed me-" Chuck stopped, biting back the rest of his words as he realized what he had revealed.

She smiled softly at him. "It was a good one?"

As he nodded, he felt his ears going red. Miss Gertrude laughed. "Charles, there's no need to be embarrassed. Any romance between a woman and a man, it won't go far if there isn't a physical connection to go along with the mental and emotional one."

"I know that . . . but it's strange to talk about it." Especially with a woman, Chuck thought to himself.

She laughed again. "It's not so strange to me." She picked up her glass and tossed back the last of her whiskey, then gestured to the bartender to refill it. "Charles, if I were you, I'd talk to Sarah. Be blunt with her-don't pussyfoot around things. Bring everything out into the open."

"You think that would work?" Chuck asked, feeling his hopes rise a little.

"Dunno," Miss Gertrude said with a shrug. "But if you're honest, at least you'll know where you stand. There won't be any doubt."

There was a note in her voice, something that made Chuck think back to his conversation with Casey and his relationship with Miss Gertrude. About how they knew how to push each other away when things got too serious. He wondered if Miss Gertrude was giving him advice that she wished she could take.

Chuck nodded and drank the last of his whiskey. "Thank you for the advice, Miss Gertrude."

She smiled at him, her eyes dark and a little bit sad. "Any time, Charles."

He smiled at her, then turned to the bartender. "What do I owe you?"

"Seventy-five cents," she said, taking his glass away.

Chuck pulled out his wallet and dropped two half-dollar coins on the bar. "Keep the change, ma'am." He set his hat on his head and nodded to Miss Gertrude. "You let us know if you need any help, Miss Gertrude."

The older woman smiled. "I've got things under control, but thank you."

"I know, but it's always nice to know where you can go for help," Chuck said, tipping his hat to both Miss Gertrude and the bartender before he headed out of the saloon.

XXX

The sheriff looked up from her desk when Chuck walked in. "Where you been, Bartowski?"

Chuck unbuckled his gun belt and hung it on a nail on the wall, covering it with his hat. "I stopped at Miss Gertrude's for a drink," he said, sitting down in a chair and stretching his legs out.

Beckman nodded. "Gertie's a good one to talk to."

"Yeah," Chuck said. "She gave me a good perspective on a problem."

She looked at him, her eyebrow raised. "Worryin' about your love life?"

"Don't have much of one right now," Chuck said, feeling a bit glum. Miss Gertrude's advice was good and he had every intention of seeing if it would work. But if Sarah wouldn't talk to him, he wouldn't get very far.

"Noticed that," Beckman said. "What's wrong?"

He looked over at the sheriff, a bit surprised that she was taking this much interest in him. "Since you're asking. . ." he said slowly, giving her a chance to cut him off if her offer wasn't in earnest. She stayed quiet, and he went on. "I want to talk to Sarah, but she keeps ignoring me. I think she's still mad at me for asking her to stop running raids on Shaw's place."

Beckman raised her eyebrows. "You did, huh? And you didn't think you shoulda kept quiet about that?"

Something in the tone of her voice told Chuck that she wasn't too pleased with him. He took a deep breath. "You said the real priority was dealing with Shaw and the monopoly. If you thought arresting Sarah was important, you would have done it."

"That's true," Beckman said grudgingly. "But don't do that again, you hear me?"

Chuck nodded. "Yes, Sheriff."

Silence fell between them for a few long, awkward moments, then the sheriff sighed and stood up, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "So Sarah's ignoring you now?"

"Yeah," Chuck said. "She got really mad at me for talking to her about it. By the end of the conversation, she had calmed down, but I think she's holding a grudge."

"All the Walkers are stubborn as mules," the sheriff said. "I should know-I am, too. So you're gonna need to find a way to get through the grudge she's holdin'."

"But how?" Chuck asked, feeling confused.

Beckman shrugged. "You'll hafta figure somethin' out."

He slumped down in his chair. "Yeah."

"Got somethin' for you to do while you're figurin' this out," the sheriff said, walking back over to her desk and sitting down in her chair.

It took Chuck a moment to catch up with Beckman's change of subject. "Yeah?"

"Yep," Beckman said. "Looks like with the Walkers stoppin' their raids, Shaw's decided to take advantage of us bein' down two men."

"What's he going to do?"

"Dunno. That's what you're gonna find out." The sheriff leaned back in her chair. "You said you're pretty good at trackin' and nosin' around. I want you to do just that at Shaw's ranch. Ride out there, watch what's goin' on, even get close enough to eavesdrop if you can."

Chuck took a deep breath. "What happens if I get caught?"

"Play dumb. Say you got lost, say you didn't know you were on Shaw's property."

"I'm not very good at playing dumb," Chuck said, feeling a bit sheepish. "I think too much and get tripped up when I'm talking."

"It's a good skill to learn. And hell, you're a man. You've got a natural-born instinct for playin' dumb." Beckman smirked at him and poured another cup of coffee, holding it out to him. "Drink up-you're gonna have a long night."

"You want me to go out there now?" Chuck asked, taking the mug.

The sheriff nodded. "Yeah. Go out, spend an hour or so nosin' around. We'll take our time with this, so as not to spook Shaw. But you're gonna be on short sleep rations for a while, Chuck."

Chuck took a big swallow of his coffee. "Okay, Sheriff. You can count on me."

Beckman looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "I know." She didn't say anything else, just sat down at her desk again.

XXX

With a yawn that he kept quiet as best he could, Chuck pushed himself up from the hard ground and started walking towards his horse. It was an hour after sunrise, the sky already turning milky as the heat increased. He'd been watching Shaw's house for three hours, and he hadn't seen much of anything. The servants seemed to be moving around a bit earlier than normal, but while he had some suspicions about what that meant, there was no clear-cut answer.

This was the fourth time he had watched Shaw's ranch, and so far he had acquired a few bits of info. He had definitely seen signs of some kind of preparation going on: some new servants, lights burning after midnight in the house, things like that. Since there wasn't any gossip in town about Shaw having visitors or some kind of event out at his ranch, Chuck had to agree with Beckman's instinct that Shaw had something planned and it was just a matter of time before he would make a move.

Chuck gave in and yawned again, glad that he was on his way back to town and to his cot. He'd catch a few hours of sleep before getting up and helping the sheriff with an early-afternoon patrol. They were expecting Casey and Morgan back within the next couple of days, since they had been gone nearly three weeks, and Chuck would be very happy to have them back.

His horse whinnied softly when Chuck appeared. "Hey, Newton," he said with a small smile, stroking the side of Newton's neck. "Ready to go home?"

Newton blew out a breath and gently butted his head against Chuck's hand. Chuck grinned. "I'll take that as a yes." He swung up into the saddle and started riding towards El Dorado. He was glad that Newton was such a smart horse; he could doze a little in the saddle on the way back to town.

He didn't know how long he napped in the saddle; Newton's gentle rocking motion lulled him into a deeper sleep than he'd planned for. The sound of hoofbeats drew Chuck out of sleep, and he blinked when he saw Sarah riding towards him.

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he straightened up in the saddle, drawing his horse to a stop as Sarah came closer. She swept up next to him, reining in her horse and looking at him with a quizzical expression.

Trying to head off any questions, Chuck spoke first. "Hey, Sarah. It's good to see you. How's your family doing?"

"Chuck, what are you doin' out here?"

Of course she'd ignore his attempts to control the conversation and dive straight in with the hard question, Chuck realized. With the sheriff's warning to be more discreet echoing in his mind, he searched for some kind of explanation.

"Well . . . I still haven't seen a Texas sunrise, coming up over all the land, so I thought, why wait any longer?"

Even to his ears, that sounded bad, and it was all he could do not to wince. Sarah looked annoyed and skeptical.

"That so?" she asked, her eyebrows raised. "You came all this way out here, where you're trespassin' on Shaw's lands by the by, to watch the sun come up."

"I'm a nature lover," Chuck said weakly.

Sarah rolled her eyes and glared at him with a look of offended frustration. "If you don't wanna tell me, fine, but don't lie to me. I thought you were a better man than that."

Chuck felt a jolt of anger go through him. "I'm trying to be, but when I get ignored and avoided for no good reason, and then after days of doing that you start right in with interrogating me, I forget all my civilized ways and act like any other man."

His words had an impact on her; she opened her mouth to speak, but then paused and took a deep breath before speaking. "I'm sorry for givin' you the cold shoulder. You didn't deserve that, not when you were tryin' to help. Even though I don't need it."

"I know you don't need it," Chuck snapped. "Doesn't mean I don't wanna try, though."

She looked at him, her forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Why?" she asked, her voice soft. "Why do you want to try?"

He ducked his head, not wanting her to see into his eyes. Hadn't he made it clear so far that he was gone on her? And that meant he only wanted the best for her, wanted her to be happy and safe and cared for.

He knew that Miss Gertrude had told him to talk to Sarah, but this wasn't the time or place to be doing that. So he'd have to hope neither of them would say something that would start a fight. He took a few deep breaths, trying to get himself back under control.

At his continued silence, Sarah sighed softly and pushed her hat off her head, causing her hair to tumble around her shoulders. "I don't get you at all."

Chuck lifted his head and looked at her. "Sorry."

"You don't hafta be sorry," Sarah said quietly, her eyes locked on his. He swallowed, trying not to give in to the urge to take her hand, to lean over and kiss her even though they were both still on their horses. Even with them being on the outs, that spark was still there. It kept drawing them in, even when neither of them could understand why. Her gaze faltered a little and her horse twitched, moving Sarah away from him.

"Easy, girl," Sarah said softly, patting her horse's neck. She looked back at Chuck, but the moment was gone. "You can't tell me why you're out here?"

He shook his head. "No, I can't."

"You're out here, comin' from Shaw's lands . . . sun ain't been up too long, so you musta come out here while it was dark." Sarah tilted her head as she spoke, clearly trying to figure out what was going on.

Chuck could see her face change as an idea occurred to her. "Are you-is the sheriff protectin' Shaw?" Sarah asked, her voice aghast. "Now she's in his pocket, too?"

"No, that's not it at all, Sarah-" Chuck protested, but he could see his words fell on deaf ears. She just gave him one scathing look, then wheeled her horse and galloped towards the Walker homestead.

He watched her go, then groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. "Great job there, Bartowski," he said, channeling Casey for a moment. He gathered his reins and clucked to Newton, sending him into a gentle trot towards El Dorado.

XXX

"For a smart guy, you're pretty damn dumb sometimes, Bartowski. Is it women in general, or just the Wildcat?"

Chuck sighed and hung his head. "I'm sorry, Sheriff."

Beckman looked at him, then stood up from her position behind her desk. "I know you are, and to be honest, not much you coulda done better. At least you kept from tellin' her what's goin' on."

"Only for her to think we're watching Shaw because he's paying you off," Chuck said grumpily.

"Might work in our favor," Beckman said, pouring them both cups of coffee. "Never a bad thing to have Jack Walker in the dark. He'd be so worried about the idea that Shaw's got us on his side, he'll lay low for a bit."

He took the mug of coffee she handed him but didn't drink any of it. "Are you sure you want me to keep watching Shaw's place?"

The sheriff nodded. "Damn straight I want you to keep watchin'. You said it looks like something's gonna happen. I wanna know what that something is. You'll go back out tonight."

Chuck bit back a groan. He felt exhausted and jittery; the days of interrupted sleep and plenty of coffee were starting to catch up with him. The sheriff looked at him sympathetically. "I know it's been tough, Chuck, but Casey and Grimes oughta be back any day now. And after tonight, I'll give you a break to catch up on your sleep."

He nodded and took a sip of coffee. "Okay, Sheriff. Miss Gertrude send over breakfast yet?"

"She did, and I saved you the best of what's here," Beckman said, rummaging in the basket and pulling out some passable-looking bread and less-greasy-than-normal sausage.

Eating slowly and with plenty of coffee, Chuck started to feel more awake. He joined the sheriff on an afternoon patrol before taking a catnap for an hour before dinner. When he woke up, Beckman took one look at him and shook her head. "You look like crap, Bartowski. Go get dinner down the street."

The local cantina had good food, so Chuck knew the sheriff was taking pity on him. But he wasn't about to complain, since the cheesy bean-and-rice dish, served piping hot with good coffee, got Chuck feel ready for another night of little sleep. Once he had arrived on Shaw's lands, he took up a new position that would let him watch both the front and back of the house.

There was a lot to see once he hunkered down. Shaw's house had lights in several windows, and he could see plenty of people passing through the lamplight, indicating steady activity. He kept his eyes peeled, concentrating hard. If tonight was the night that Shaw's plan was put into action, Chuck didn't want to miss a thing.

The moon was only a quarter-full, and Chuck had to edge closer than he'd normally go in order to see anything. After a few hours, he could feel his eyes drooping, but through sheer will he kept from falling asleep. And he was rewarded for his diligence, because he started to see riders approaching Shaw's ranch house.

Chuck could see that they were good at this. They rode up to the house from different directions, some going to the front door, others to the back. It was mostly single riders, but when there was more than one, they rode single file.

He counted at least ten riders within about a half-hour before the pace slackened. Chuck waited what felt like an eternity, but was probably only ten or fifteen minutes, before he moved from his position and mounted Newton. He had to get back to town and fast without being detected. He kept his horse at a slow walk for several minutes, hoping that his caution wouldn't backfire on him. Once he was a quarter-mile from Shaw's place, he spurred Newton into a gallop.

XXX

Chuck burst into the jail through the back door. He had seen Casey and Morgan's horses in the stable, so he was extra-eager to share his news and to hear what the others had learned.

Both men looked dusty and tired; Chuck guessed they had been riding hard to get back to El Dorado. "Hey. Welcome back."

Casey grunted, but Morgan's greeting was much warmer. "Hi, Chuck!" The bearded man grinned widely at him.

"Good to be back?" Chuck asked, smiling back at Morgan.

Morgan nodded. "Sure is. I'm lookin' forward to sleeping someplace that's not the ground."

Chuck laughed. "I bet."

"Enough pleasantries," Beckman said. "Didja see anything out at Shaw's?"

"I sure did," Chuck said. "Looked like about ten men at least rode up tonight. They did their best to hide their tracks, to leave no evidence behind. Very sneaky."

Casey looked at the sheriff. "Sounds like we've got the right end of the stick."

"What'd you find out?" Beckman asked, leaning forward in her chair.

"Well, they're callin' themselves the Ring," Casey said, opening and closing his right hand as he spoke. "They've got a coupla fellows who run things, and then they've got men like Shaw, spread around Texas. Generals runnin' the show and captains doin' the work."

Beckman sighed, suddenly looking tired. "Yeah? How many generals?"

Casey shrugged. "Dunno."

"Probably around five or so, we think," Morgan said, shooting Casey a look. "That's from what the other sheriffs and Casey's friends have told us."

"Yep. Looks like they've been plannin' this for a good while; near as we can figure, at least a coupla years. They found men that were in place in the areas they were interested in and gave 'em all a nice big pile of money to start causin' trouble," Casey said. "Shaw was the first one who was ready to go."

"So they haven't started up anything elsewhere?" the sheriff asked, looking back and forth between Casey and Morgan.

Morgan shook his head, and Casey elaborated. "Nope, not yet. Seems like they're mighty miffed that Shaw's not closed the deal yet."

"So they sent men here to help him," Chuck said, picking up the thread of the story.

"The sheriffs said it's been real quiet in their areas-too quiet," Morgan said. "If the Ring is sendin' their hired guns here, they wouldn't wanna be startin' something in their hometowns."

"Exactly," said the sheriff grimly. "Meanwhile, we've got a potential war on our hands to deal with."

Chuck looked around the room, feeling the tension hang over them like the mythical Sword of Damocles. It wasn't great odds, he knew: both the sheriff and Casey were more than capable with guns, and Morgan was loyal as anything. And then there was him: the still wet-behind-his-ears greenhorn. Even if they'd all been the best, sending four of them up against Shaw's army of gunslingers was a surefire suicide mission.

He swallowed and broke the silence. He'd rather have some kind of answer than be left to imagine the answer. "What are we gonna do?"

Beckman looked at Casey, who grunted and rubbed his lower back. "All of us look like six kinds of crap. We attack tomorrow, there'll be four new graves in the cemetery."

Chuck shivered at Casey's grim but accurate prediction.

The sheriff nodded. "And I'm not partial to goin' in guns blazin' at this point. We'll sleep tonight, and in the morning we'll start talkin'. Grimes, you and Bartowski will make rounds tomorrow; see if there's any news. Casey, you and me will start checkin' our firearms."

"Makin' plans for some kinda stand, Diane?"

Beckman shrugged to answer Casey's question. "Wanna be prepared for anything. Grimes, before you go out tomorrow, check the supplies. Make sure we have enough if we gotta hole up."

"Yes, Sheriff," Morgan said meekly.

"But for now, sleep for all of us," the sheriff said, standing up. "Good havin' everyone back." Without waiting for any response, she headed into the jail anteroom. Casey grunted and flopped down on his cot. Within a few moments, soft snores could be heard from him.

Chuck looked at Morgan and couldn't help grinning, Casey's snores having broken some of the tension. Morgan grinned back. "Casey can sleep anywhere, anytime. Said it's all part of bein' a gunslinger."

"I guess so," Chuck said. He looked closely at Morgan. "You okay?"

Morgan nodded. "Yeah. Tired, y'know, but the trip was good. I learned a lot."

Chuck thought over the last few weeks, on the time he'd spent with the sheriff and the conversations they'd had. "Me, too," he said softly.

XXX

With a jerk, Chuck awoke from his dream. He took a few deep breaths, sweeping his eyes around the room. It was dim inside the jail; he could see pale light coming in through the cracks in the shutters, which told him that the sun was just starting to rise. He could hear the steady sounds of sleepy breathing filling the jail; he seemed to be the only one awake.

He rubbed a hand over his face. The dream was fading, leaving behind only a sense of dread and lingering uncertainty. The only thing he could remember clearly was that the dream involved Sarah.

It was early enough that he could just go back to sleep, and he did try. Chuck punched his pillow and turned on his side. It was just a dream, after all. It didn't mean anything was actually wrong with Sarah. Yet he couldn't stop worrying. If Sarah still thought that the sheriff was taking bribes from Shaw, she might be planning something foolish that would get her killed. With all of those gun hands at Shaw's ranch, that outcome was more likely than ever.

After trying to go back to sleep for several minutes, Chuck groaned softly and sat up. He wouldn't be able to rest if he was worrying and thinking about Sarah. Hopefully, she'd had enough time to cool down and start thinking, so she wouldn't shoot him on sight.

He really hoped she wouldn't shoot him.

Tossing back the covers on his cot, he quietly got up and got dressed. He scrawled a note and left if on the sheriff's desk, then tiptoed out the back door of the jail. Soon, he was riding Newton out towards the Walker homestead. He knew that Sarah wanted to keep their friendship quiet, but he didn't see any other way to talk to her other than visiting her home.

It was a risk, he knew. But with his unsettled his feelings from the dream, he was more convinced than ever that he wasn't ready to give up on a relationship with Sarah. Even though things were in limbo between them, he wanted to make sure she knew as much of the truth as he was allowed to tell.

The sun was fully up in the sky and the heat was rising by the time he arrived. He dismounted and wrapped one of Newton's reins around the hitching rail in front of the Walker house, then took a deep breath. Gathering his courage, he stepped onto the porch and knocked lightly on the door.

After a moment, the door was opened by a stout-looking Mexican woman, wearing a stern expression on her face. " _Si_?"

Chuck took his hat off quickly. "Good morning. Is Miss Sarah here?"

The woman tilted her head, looking at him with narrowed eyes. "Who I say is calling?" she asked in heavily-accented Spanish.

"My name is Chuck, ma'am."

At the sound of his name, the woman's face brightened, a smile spreading across her face. " _Señor_ Chuck! _Si_! Yes, I tell her." The woman looked around, then whispered, "Stay here," before closing the door partway and going into the house.

That was surprising, Chuck thought, taking a step back and fidgeting with his hat. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it hadn't been such a switch in attitude just from hearing his name.

After a few moments, the door opened to reveal Sarah, getting pushed out the door by the Mexican woman who was speaking in Spanish at a rapid clip.

"Okay, okay, Rosa, I'm goin'!" Sarah finally said, stepping onto the porch and closing the door behind her. She sighed and looked at Chuck. "I don't wanna talk to you, but Rosa wouldn't take no for an answer."

"Is that the Rosa who's your cook?" he asked, looking at her.

She nodded. "She's more stubborn than me, and that's sayin' something. She said I should talk to you." By the tone of Sarah's voice, she wasn't thrilled by the idea.

From what Sarah had told him about Rosa, the woman seemed like a second mother. If she was encouraging Sarah to listen to him, maybe there was hope for them. Chuck squared his shoulders and looked at Sarah.

"Sorry for just showing up here like this, but I came out here to talk about the other day. About how you thought Shaw was paying off the sheriff."

Sarah lifted her chin, setting her hands on her hips. "Yeah, I did think that." She paused, and her defiance faded away as she let her arms drop to her sides. "For about five minutes. Then I realized how dumb I was actin'."

Chuck felt an almost comical sense of relief. "Really?" he asked eagerly.

She nodded. "I overreacted. There's no way the sheriff woulda let herself get bought by Shaw. And she's always been fair to us."

He grinned at her, happy that he wouldn't have to convince her about the sheriff's neutrality. "I'm so glad, Sarah."

Sarah smiled back sheepishly, looking embarrassed. "So you can forgive me for actin' like a fool?"

"Of course," he said, taking a small step closer to her. "I'm just happy you're willing to talk to me now, after I lost my temper."

"Lost your temper?" Sarah asked, her nose wrinkling in confusion. "When'd you do that?"

"When you saw me at Shaw's the other day?"

At his words, Sarah's confusion melted into amusement, and she chuckled. "Hell, Chuck, if that's you losin' your temper, then you've never really lost it."

"Well, I wasn't acting like I should act with you, so I'm sorry," Chuck said.

She nodded. "No need to apologize, but it's appreciated." She gave him a long, level look. "You still can't tell me why you were out at Shaw's place?"

Chuck shook his head, looking at her apologetically. "No. But . . ." He paused and looked around, then returned his eyes to hers. "Be careful, okay? Don't try anything."

Sarah set her jaw, still looking a little annoyed. "Yeah. Okay."

Her moods were like quicksilver, Chuck thought. Just when he had a handle on what he thought she was feeling, she'd say or do something that made him realize he had no idea what was going on in her head.

Before Chuck could respond, the door opened and Rosa was there, grabbing Sarah's hand. She said something to her in a low voice, and Sarah nodded. "Okay, Rosa. _Gracias_."

Sarah turned to Chuck. "I hafta go-my pop's lookin' for me." She paused for a moment, then nodded to him. "Thanks, Chuck."

"You're welcome, Sarah," he said quickly before she vanished into the house. Rosa, as she closed the door, smiled at him, and Chuck couldn't help returning the smile, even if he didn't really feel it.

It was probably a good idea to not linger too long, so Chuck set his hat on his head and climbed back on his horse. As he rode back to El Dorado, he took stock. He still had some concerns about his relationship with Sarah, some questions that he had to answer before he'd be ready to put his cards on the table. He hoped in that conversation she'd do the same, give him some insight into her inscrutable feelings. But before he could do any of that, they'd have to deal with Shaw and the Ring.

Chuck couldn't help screwing up his face in frustration. He hoped that Casey and Beckman would find a way to confront Shaw without it coming to violence. Because he didn't think he'd be much use to them in a firefight. But at this point, he wasn't sure that it was possible for this to end without bloodshed.

And if there was blood spilled, he really hoped that his new friends wouldn't be the ones to suffer.


	9. As His Strength Failed Him at Length

Morgan shook his head as Chuck finished explaining what had happened between him and Sarah while Morgan was gone. "I dunno, Chuck. Never heard of Sarah bein' so stubborn. This is more than just usual Walker mule-headedness, I reckon."

Chuck kicked at a stone in the dust of the street. "It seemed strange to me, too. But why is she acting this way?"

"Maybe she's just too distracted right now," Morgan offered. "I mean, other than your date, you two haven't been able to forget about everything that's goin' on."

"Yeah, maybe," Chuck said. "I just hope it doesn't mean that once things with Shaw are taken care of, we can't get something going for real."

Morgan nodded. "Me, too, Chuck."

He smiled at his shorter friend as they kept walking towards the jail. They were finishing up a morning patrol, making the rounds through the town while the sheriff and Casey talked in private. They may have said that they were cleaning the firearms, but Chuck had seen the looks exchanged between Beckman and her right-hand man. There was definitely something brewing.

At least he'd gotten more sleep since Morgan and Casey had returned. No more surveillance on Shaw's ranch meant he'd slept the last two nights through with no interruptions. Now that he was sleeping in a bed, Morgan also looked healthier, too. In fact, Chuck thought his friend carried himself differently-there was a new confidence about him now.

"How was everything else around here?" Morgan asked. He rubbed a hand over his beard. "You didn't happen to hear anything from Alejandra, did you?"

Chuck grinned a little. "Worrying about her?"

Morgan stuck out his lower lip. "Of course I am-she's livin' in the middle of the snake pit! And she's been helpin' us and she's all alone . . . "

"I think you're worryin' because you like her," Chuck said, grinning wider.

"Okay, yes, you're right! I do like her-she's real pretty, ain't she, Chuck?"

He nodded. "She is. And she's brave."

"She sure is," Morgan said. "Bravest woman I've ever met, and she's so kind and gentle."

Chuck was opening his mouth to reply, but then they heard a quiet noise coming from the alley they had just walked past. They both turned their heads and saw the woman in question standing in the shadows.

"Alejandra!" Morgan said, stepping towards her.

There were dark circles under her eyes, and she was clutching a shawl around her shoulders. She tried to smile at Morgan, but Chuck thought she looked scared.

"Hola, Morgan. It-it is good to see you back," she said, her words slow and a bit halting. Chuck wondered why she was speaking in English, even though Morgan could speak fluent Spanish. Perhaps she was trying to fit in better with Morgan's friends. If that was the case, Chuck had to metaphorically tip his hat to her for making the attempt.

"Are you okay?" Morgan asked, taking her hand and holding it gently.

Alejandra's shoulders relaxed a small amount, and she gave Morgan a smile that seemed more natural. "Si, si. I am okay. I have news."

"Then let's get you to the sheriff." Morgan turned and looked at Chuck. "I'm gonna take Alejandra around the back way. You wanna go let the sheriff know we're comin'?"

"Sure, buddy," Chuck said. He nodded to Alejandra, then turned and used his long legs to bring him to the jail within a few moments. He called out through the partly-opened front door. "Hey in there-it's Chuck."

After announcing himself, he stepped into the jail and closed the door behind him. Beckman was sitting at her desk, the surface covered with a few disassembled firearms. To his surprise, Casey was actually in the back room, going over his guns at the table back there.

"Alejandra's got something to tell us," Chuck said, his eyes looking back and forth between the sheriff and Casey. "Morgan's bringing her around to the back door."

Beckman nodded. "Right." She got up from the desk and looked back at Casey. "You done bein' all male?"

Casey glared at her but didn't move from his seat, and Beckman rolled her eyes. "Guess not." Before Chuck could ask what was going on, there was a knock on the back door, and Beckman opened the door for Morgan and Alejandra.

Morgan's hand was now on Alejandra's lower back. Chuck was guessing that as soon as this mess with Shaw was over with, Morgan would be settling down with Alejandra.

"Alejandra, you a'right?" the sheriff asked, getting right to business.

She nodded a little, sitting down in the chair that Morgan drew out for her. "I am fine."

"So what's goin' on?"

The younger woman took a deep breath. "I try to tell you in the English. _Señor_ Shaw, he is very angry now. Many men, they have come to fight for him."

Chuck took a breath as the realization sunk in. They were right: the Ring was making their move and they were using Shaw as a cover.

"How many?" Beckman asked.

"Ten men. They have many guns."

"Why's Shaw so mad?" Casey asked, pinning Alejandra with his gaze.

"The men, they no listen to him. They listen to _Señor_ Bennett alone. These men, they are bad. Yesterday, they . . ."

Alejandra frowned, clearly searching for words, then turned to Morgan and spoke quickly in Spanish. Morgan listened, his face paling before he looked at the sheriff. "They scared two of the cattle boys by shooting at them. Usin' 'em as target practice, they said."

"And they watch us girls," Alejandra said, gripping her shawl again.

Beckman nodded. "You're all safe?"

" _Si_. It is very . . . very scary, but yes, safe."

Morgan's hand, resting on Alejandra's shoulder, squeezed it gently. Alejandra took a deep breath, looking more composed. Like she was drawing strength from Morgan.

"If you don't wanna go back, Alejandra, we'll find someplace for you here in town," Beckman said. "We wanna make sure you stay safe."

The girl shook her head. "My sister, she work for _Señor_ Shaw. I go back."

"Right," the sheriff said. "You hear anything sayin' when Shaw and his gunhands are gonna attack?"

Alejandra looked puzzled, and Morgan translated what the sheriff had said. Alejandra shook her head again. "I know not. But it is soon."

Beckman looked at Casey, her eyes narrowed. Casey grunted and shrugged before wincing a little.

The sheriff turned back to Alejandra. "Much obliged, Alejandra."

She nodded and stood up. "I go back now." She smiled at them a little. " _Gracias_. All of you."

" _De nada_ ," Beckman said. "Morgan, you can drive Alejandra back to Shaw's in the buckboard, if she's willin'."

Alejandra gave Morgan a shy look and nodded, and Morgan grinned. "Yes, ma'am." He took Alejandra's elbow and led her out of the jail.

Beckman sat in the chair that Alejandra had been using. "Young love all 'round us, Casey."

"Damn fool thing at a time like this," Casey said grumpily.

Chuck felt his ears turn a bit red. Beckman grinned a little at Chuck before growing serious again.

"We're gonna wait for Morgan to get back and start plannin'," she said. "Need to know how we're gonna approach this fight."

"Yes, Sheriff," Chuck said. "What do you want me to do?"

"Make sure you're ready," she said, giving him a look.

XXX

Once Morgan returned from escorting Alejandra home, the four of them began talking strategy. Chuck didn't really contribute much, since he didn't have any experience with gunfights. But he listened hard, wanting to know their plan inside and out.

There were plenty of ideas being suggested, but they still hadn't settled on one plan before exhaustion drove them to bed. The next morning, they were all sleepy. It took two mugs of strong coffee before Chuck felt awake.

Casey was in a bad mood; Chuck saw him adding a dollop of whiskey to his coffee, which definitely wasn't normal behavior for Casey. It'd been a long time since he had spent much time with Casey, though. Perhaps it was nothing.

Once Chuck and Morgan were on patrol, though, Chuck found himself talking to his friend.

"Hey, buddy . . . did you notice how Casey was acting this morning?"

Morgan nodded. "Like a wounded bear."

"Yeah," Chuck said, frowning at how apt Morgan's metaphor felt. "I wonder what's going on."

"I think he's worryin' about Miss Gertrude," Morgan volunteered. "While we were gone, he wrote her a couple of letters."

"Really?"

"Sure did. Of course, we were movin' around so much, he'd never get an answer. But he seemed like he was doin' a lotta thinking about her."

"Huh," Chuck said. "Suppose that makes sense. Before you left, I was talking to Casey a little, and . . . I guess he gave me some relationship advice, based on his own experiences."

"Wow," Morgan said, looking surprised. "That's . . . that's not very Casey."

"I know. Between that, and how he's acting now, I'm worried something's wrong," Chuck said, tipping his hat as they walked past a group of ladies.

"I think you're worryin' for nothing, Chuck," Morgan said, following Chuck's lead in nodding to the ladies. "So Casey's a bit grumpier than normal. He's probably just wishin' he was still movin' around."

"Suppose you're right," Chuck said. "You do know him a lot better than I do."

Morgan nodded as they stepped into Granger's store. "Casey's been passin' through for a good ten years now. Miss Gertrude was the same up to 'bout two years ago, when she finally settled here."

Mr. Granger bustled over, drawing Morgan into a conversation about some fabric Morgan's mother had ordered. Chuck started wandering around the store, ending up at the shelf of books to see if anything new had come in.

He had just taken down a book he hadn't seen before, one about the flora and fauna of West Texas, when he felt a tug on his trousers. Looking down, Chuck saw a small Mexican girl with big brown eyes, her hair hanging around her shoulders.

"Hello, there," Chuck said, smiling at her. He crouched down a bit to minimize the vast height difference between them. "Can I help you?"

The girl smiled at him shyly, then held out a piece of paper to him. Chuck took it, and the girl immediately dashed out of the store.

"Huh," Chuck said, wondering about such a little girl being allowed to run around by herself. He looked at the piece of paper, which was much-creased and a little grimy. He opened it carefully and scanned the note, feeling his body tense when he saw Sarah's name signed at the bottom of the note. He read the short note slowly.

_Chuck, I need to talk to you. We need to get this thing with us worked out, 'cause neither of us needs the distraction of things stayin' unsettled. And I'd like to see you. Meet me in the barn across from the jail tonight at eight._

_Sarah_

Chuck read over the note a second time, wishing there was a way to get a sense of how a person felt through a letter. Because the words on the page seemed no-nonsense, businesslike. But that wasn't Sarah; she was all emotion and impulse. While he thought, she reacted.

"I swear, she's spendin' me into the poorhouse," Morgan muttered as he walked up to Chuck. "You ready to go, Chuck?"

"Huh?" he asked, finally coming back to Earth. "What, Morgan?"

"What's that?" his friend asked, pointing at the note.

He swallowed, feeling nervous. "It's . . . it's a note from Sarah. She wants to see me tonight."

Morgan's eyes widened. "She does?"

Chuck nodded. "Yeah. Tonight, in the barn across from the jail."

"Are you gonna go?"

He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers catching on his curls. He idly thought that he could use another haircut.

"I . . . I think I am. Yeah," Chuck said slowly.

Morgan looked at him, then nodded. "Okay. I'll help cover for you."

"You don't have to do that, Morgan," Chuck protested.

"Hey, I'm your friend. And this way, you don't have to worry about anyone lookin' for you."

Chuck smiled. "Thanks, Morgan." He clapped the shorter man on the shoulder. "I'm lucky to have a friend like you."

Morgan grinned widely at Chuck. "You got that right."

He laughed and followed Morgan out of the store, grateful for his friend's help. Yet as they walked back to the jail, Chuck found his thoughts turning towards his meeting with Sarah. What would happen? What did she want from him? Would they put their differences behind them and get their relationship started, or was this the end for them?

XXX

Just before eight o'clock, Chuck walked out the back door of the jail, freshly shaved and wearing a clean shirt. Morgan had encouraged the sheriff to join Casey on patrol tonight, rather than staying behind as she normally did. With both of them out of the jail, Chuck could prepare for tonight and leave without attracting any notice.

Chuck rubbed his clammy hands against his trousers, trying to control his nerves. His thoughts all afternoon had been focused on seeing Sarah, on hearing what she had to say and figuring out whether they had a future.

He approached the barn, looking around as he opened the door and stepped inside. He took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dimness, then walked further inside.

The straw scattered over the floor crunched softly under his boots, and there was a musty smell. It wasn't exactly a romantic setting, but it was the place where he had met Sarah, and that made this dilapidated barn special to him.

"Chuck."

He turned around quickly at the sound of Sarah's voice, which was coming from a dark corner. He watched as she stepped out of the shadows, walking towards him. He licked his lips before he spoke.

"Sarah."

"I'm glad you came," she said softly, coming to a stop in front of him.

Chuck swallowed. "Well, you asked me to come, and you're right, we should really try and get some things straightened out between us, with the fight with Shaw comin' any day now . . ." He let his voice trail off, grateful that he hadn't fallen into a full-blown babble.

Sarah nodded. "Yeah . . ." She looked at him, her gaze penetrating, then took a deep breath. "You gotta tell me why you were watchin' Shaw's place."

"Why?" His question came out a bit choked, so he cleared his throat and repeated himself. "Why do I have to tell you that?"

She looked at him, her eyes narrowed. "'Cause I want to know what you were doin' out there. Why you were guarding Shaw, of all people. Why didn't the sheriff send you to watch our place, to make sure we were okay? We're the ones who are in the right here."

"Are you sure about that?" Chuck couldn't help remembering his conversation with Casey, about how Jack Walker was a con man who'd tricked a few greenhorns out of their land.

The anger rose in Sarah's face and she glared at him. "Course I'm sure! Are you tryin' to accuse us of something?"

"All I'm saying is, I've heard stories about your father," Chuck said. "Stories that I'm inclined to believe, given who was doing the telling and from what Mr. Walker has said to me."

He didn't like bringing up the conversation with her father, but it was important. That talk had added to Chuck's impression that Mr. Walker wasn't much better than Shaw. Plus, he knew that they were getting sidetracked by her family issues. It kept them away from the heart of the matter: how they were two people that were standing at opposite ends of a spectrum, and if they had any chance of a future together, they both had to come closer to the middle.

"My pop's done nothin' but keep his family together against all odds!"

"He's cheated newcomers out of their lands and conned people!" Chuck pointed out. "And we both know how he feels about you, about how he's doing everything he can to keep you under his thumb."

Sarah snorted. "Like there's any man who can do that to me! Or perhaps it's just wishful thinking, huh, Chuck?"

Anger wasn't an emotion he felt often. But he was feeling it now, at Sarah's stubbornness and refusal to see his point of view.

"We both know that's not true," he said quietly, looking at her. "I don't want you to be anyone but who you are."

"Unless it goes against what you think is right," she said, her eyes snapping.

"What does that mean?" Chuck asked, stepping towards her with his hands on his hips.

"For someone who's supposed to be so smart, you're damn thick!" she raged. "What about your whole impassioned 'Oh, Sarah, don't attack Shaw's land!' bit? Beggin' me to listen to you, to do what you said!"

Her mocking words lit a match to his temper. He was normally a calm man, someone who didn't get angry with anyone. But Sarah Walker was so frustrating, so pig-headed when she thought she was right, she couldn't see the possibility that she might be wrong. His whole life, he'd spent with calm, sensible people. No one was like this firebrand with her messy hair and eyes that went from calm pools to stormy skies at the drop of a hat.

"That's not how it was at all!" Chuck said, his voice getting louder. "You know that! I was worried about you, because you were acting like an idiot!"

Sarah sputtered for a moment, then advanced on him, getting in his face. "An idiot? For protecting my family, for not wanting to give in to some man who thinks he rules the world?" Her eyes ran over him. "So this is how it is-you're no different from any other man! You expect women to just roll over and say 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir' and 'whatever you say, sir'!"

"Oh my God," Chuck said, so dumbstruck that he committed a blasphemy by taking the Lord's name in vain. Not that he really cared about being blasphemous at this moment. He took a step away, turning his back on her and breathing deeply. How could she be so misguided about him? Thinking that he wanted her to be like other women, demure and quiet and without an opinion on anything more than dresses and hats?

Sarah Walker was the smartest, savviest, strongest woman he'd ever met, and he thought any man that wanted her to change that was the biggest fool who ever lived. She was utterly unique, and he couldn't imagine her any other way. Even if she was frustrating and hot-headed and so stubborn that they might never see eye to eye on anything.

Suddenly, Miss Gertrude's words popped into his head. " _Charles, if I were you, I'd talk to Sarah. Be blunt with her-don't pussyfoot around things. Bring everything out into the open._ "

Maybe that was it. Maybe it was time to just stop dancing around and get to the honest truth.

Taking another deep breath, he turned to face her. Her face was flushed and her hair looked like she had been running her hands through it in frustration. Her shirt was old and had a ripped sleeve, her trousers fit her like a second skin, and she was a much better shot than he was.

And he knew that he would never want another woman like he wanted her.

"I think you know that's not what I want," Chuck said, keeping his voice low and even. "But if you really don't know that . . . it's time for me to put my cards on the table."

"What are you talking about, Chuck?" she said, an edge of anger still in her voice. But it seemed to him that she had calmed down enough to actually listen to him.

He swallowed, taking a moment to gather his thoughts and find a place to start. "Sarah, I'm on your side. It's not because the sheriff has decided that Shaw is in the wrong or because he's acted worse than your family. And it's not because I want to change you." He searched her eyes, trying to gauge what she was feeling and thinking. He took a step towards her.

"Sarah, I'm on your side because I-I have feelings for you. I admire you, I respect you, I like you. I . . . I think we could really be something together."

She blinked, looking confused. "Together?" Her voice sounded hesitant and unsure, like what he was saying was what she hoped for, but she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

Chuck slowly reached out and cupped her face in his hands. He could feel the tension in her body as she held herself in check, and her eyes were large and very blue. He sensed the feelings swirling in their depths: frustration, uncertainty, hope. He let himself get lost in her eyes before he spoke softly, trying to push aside his nerves at exposing himself like this.

"I'm pretty close to falling in love with you, Sarah Walker."

Her eyes widened. "You . . . you've been doing all this because you . . . ?"

He nodded slowly, giving in to the temptation and lightly stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. He saw a spark of some unrecognizable emotion in Sarah's eyes, and then she was pulling him in close and kissing him.

It was all he could do not to moan at the feel of her lips. Unlike their first and until now only kiss, this one wasn't polite and sweet and gentle. Sarah pressed her mouth firmly against his, her hands gripping his shoulders. She kissed him hungrily, like she was trying to devour him. And Chuck found himself returning her passion.

He slid his hands into her hair, holding her close as his lips moved to kiss along her jaw. Her skin was so soft, with a spicy sweet taste that he could see himself becoming addicted. Suddenly the word "devour" took on new meaning. He'd never felt like this before, but he wanted more of her. And he wanted to take his time.

Sarah seemed on the same page: her hands started to run over his back gently, and she pressed soft kisses over his cheek and chin until he brought his mouth back to hers. This kiss was softer and slower. He felt like he was falling into her.

She was too far away. He moved one of his hands from her hair and slid it down her back to rest on her hip. He took a step towards her as he pulled on her hip. To his delight, Sarah moved in against him at his signal, her body coming closer until they were touching.

Now he had to moan, moving his mouth away and letting his face rest against the side of hers. To have those curves he hadn't been able to ignore since they met, pressing against him-it was a feeling so blissful that he wondered if this was wrong. If they should step back.

"Chuck," Sarah said, her voice low and throaty. Something about her voice sent a lightning bolt through him, and unconsciously he tightened his arms around her.

This was what he wanted. He wanted to have Sarah this close to him all the time, wanted to have her in his arms, warm and soft and best of all, trusting. Trusting him to always have her back, to be the person who would give her unconditional support.

He kissed her cheek softly. "Sarah?"

"Hmmmm?" she murmured, rubbing her nose lightly against his cheek.

"As-as nice as this is," Chuck said, feeling his thoughts move at a crawl from kissing and touching her, "maybe we should slow down, talk a bit more . . ."

She sighed softly. "Uh-huh . . . but in a minute. One more kiss."

"Sarah, I don't know-" He was going to say that he wasn't sure he could stop after one, but her mouth cut off his words.

Slowly, softly, her lips pressed against his. This kiss was searching, like she was trying to find something inside him. He closed his eyes and let her set the pace as he soaked up the feel of kissing her. Chuck was pretty sure he wouldn't ever get tired of kissing her.

After a few moments, Sarah pulled away, her cheeks pink and her eyes bright. Chuck knew he was breathing hard, like he'd just run a mile at noon on the hottest day of the year. She smiled up at him.

"Okay, now we can talk."

"Yeah," Chuck said, sucking in some air. "Yeah. Talking."

She took a few steps back, a small, impish smile on her face. "Easier to talk when I'm over here?"

He nodded, trying to get his mind back in action. "Thank you. I . . . I suppose this means you're also interested in-in having a relationship with me?"

Sarah nodded. "I am." Her smile faded, and her voice got quiet. "But I dunno if this is gonna work, Chuck."

"What? What do you mean?" Chuck felt a chill pass over him at the thought of getting what he wanted, only for it to vanish this quickly. He stepped towards her, closing some of the distance between them.

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "I do care about you, but . . . but I dunno if it's enough."

"Is this about your family?" he asked quietly, reaching out to take her hand.

"Kinda," she said softly, looking a bit sad. "I've spent most of my life working on the ranch. I've bred horses, delivered calves, pulled weeds, fought fires. All the success we've had, I knew that a big chunk of it was 'cause of me. But if I leave . . . I won't have anything."

"That's not true, Sarah," he said, squeezing her hand as he leaned in towards her. "You have so much experience and strength, you'd be able to create a success out of anything."

"It's just not fair," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I deserve more."

"You do, Sarah. You really do, and if I could convince your dad to change his mind, I'd do anything."

He gazed down at her, hoping she could hear the sincerity in his voice. He meant what he said: he wished he could lean on Jack Walker, make him realize how extraordinary Sarah was and how worthy she was of his support.

Sarah gave him a small, soft smile. "Thanks, Chuck."

"Are you sure you don't want to try, Sarah?" he asked, holding her hand tightly. "If we were together, we could have the whole world. We'd find a way."

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I . . . I'm not ready to take that chance. Usedta be, I'd leap and not worry about what might go wrong. But this time, it's just-I can't just jump and hope." Sarah's eyes were as close to pleading as he'd ever seen. "I need more time before changin' my whole life like that."

Chuck swallowed. As disappointing as her words were, he knew that he couldn't show that disappointment. He didn't want to pressure her or rush her. This was a big decision for her. Even if she wanted to see the world and travel to new places, taking a chance on him, even if they stayed in El Dorado . . . it must be scary for her to consider leaving her family behind and the only home she had ever known.

"I . . . I understand, Sarah," he said, doing his best to smile encouragingly at her. "Of course you need time."

"I'm sorry. Not just for needin' time, but for what I said earlier, 'cause I know you're not that kinda man. You . . . you're the best man I've ever met, Chuck Bartowski." Sarah looked up at him, her eyes shining with heartfelt emotion.

Looking into her eyes, he felt breathless. Somehow, she'd fallen for him, and it was the best feeling in the world. He was going to do whatever it took to keep feeling this way.

He kissed her forehead softly. "I can wait. Take all the time you need. I just hope I can kiss you every now and then."

"I don't think you're gonna get away without me kissin' you whenever we see each other," Sarah said, laughing softly. She leaned up and kissed him softly, then pulled back. "I'm gonna go. See you soon, Chuck."

"See you soon, Sarah," he said, giving her a small smile.

She smiled back before slipping out of the barn. He spent a few moments worrying a little about Sarah riding home in the dark, but mostly savoring the memory of kissing her. Then he stepped out of the barn and started walking through the streets of El Dorado, doing a quick patrol as he had promised Morgan he'd do.

XXX

When he walked back into the jail, the place was in a uproar. The sheriff was barking orders to Morgan, who was running around looking frantic. Meanwhile, Casey sat in a chair, looking grim as he rubbed his right arm with his left hand.

"What-what's going on?" Chuck asked, interrupting the sheriff's ranting.

"Bartowski, where the hell have you been?" Beckman snapped. "We've got problems."

"I can tell," he said, looking at the shorter woman. "But whatever it is, we can figure it out."

Chuck was full of optimism after working things out with Sarah. He found himself thinking that no matter how bad things were, it would all work out. After all, Sarah liked him. This turn of events was so unlikely that he'd never have predicted it after they had first met. That meant that anything was possible.

The sheriff glared at him. "You were off with the Wildcat, weren't you?" She looked at Morgan. "I knew you were lyin' to me."

"Sheriff, Sheriff, I was just helpin' Chuck out-"

"Stop makin' excuses!"

Beckman's bellow made both Morgan and Chuck jump.

"Diane, ease up on 'em," Casey said, his voice strained. "You actin' like a madwoman isn't helpin' anything."

The sheriff looked at Casey, her ire draining away and leaving her with a pinched face and worried eyes. "Yeah, well, sometimes you gotta scream in order to calm down."

Casey let out a gruff laugh. "I think you should be plenty calm by now."

Beckman gave him a tight smile, then turned to face Chuck. "To answer your question, Bartowski . . . Casey's gun hand is outta commission."

"What?" Chuck asked, feeling like the bottom had fallen out of his stomach.

"Was out with Diane, and I got one of those shootin' pains," Casey explained. "That was an hour ago. And my hand's still not workin'."

"It's never taken that long to come back before, right?" Morgan said quietly, sounding scared.

Casey nodded. "Yeah."

"What . . . what does that mean?" Chuck could hear the fear in his own voice, just like he could hear it in Morgan's.

"When I got shot, the doc said I needed to see someone better 'n him to get the bullet out," Casey said, his words labored.

"Yeah, I remember when Doctor Wood said that, after he sewed up the sheriff's leg," Chuck said.

"Yeah, well, he said I shouldn't put it off too long, or else someday one of these attacks might . . ." Casey stopped and chose his words carefully. "It might not wear off."

As Casey's words sunk in, Chuck felt real worry for his friend. He couldn't imagine what Casey was feeling at this moment, but it had to be overwhelming and scary. His whole life would change if he didn't recover.

It seemed like today was all about people he knew facing big decisions, big changes. He didn't want to let those people down. He'd managed to find the right thing to say and do with Sarah. He wanted that for Casey, too.

Of course, Casey would probably brush him off, but he had to try.

He swallowed and looked over at Morgan. "Morgan, you think you could go get Doc Wood? See if he could come check on Casey?"

Morgan nodded quickly. "You got it, Chuck." Within a moment, he had left the jail to fetch the doctor.

Chuck checked the coffeepot, finding it empty. He went to work and soon had a fresh pot brewed. "Sheriff, here you go," he said, pouring her a mug of coffee. "You need a moment."

Beckman raised an eyebrow. "You tryin' to handle me, Chuck?" She took the mug of coffee and sat down at her desk.

"No, ma'am, just trying to help you relax a little. Because this is a bad time, but we can't take it out on each other." He was perhaps overstepping his bounds, but he knew he was speaking the truth. If they were at each other's throats, they'd be playing right into Shaw's hands.

The sheriff sighed and took a long swallow from her mug. "Suppose you're right. We gotta make plans if Casey's not gonna be able to help us."

"I'll find a way, Diane," Casey said. "May be down, but I ain't out yet."

Chuck couldn't help grinning a little. If he had to sum up Casey in one sentence, that would be his choice: down but never out.

The sheriff smiled as well. "I know, Casey."

A silence fell over them, punctuated only by the soft sounds of coffee being sipped and people shifting in chairs. While they waited for Morgan to return with the doctor, Chuck thought over this night.

It wasn't just the people around him that were facing changes, he realized. He himself also had a choice to make. They were facing the fight with Shaw, one that might not end well. He had so much to live for: his new friends, a good job, a relationship with Sarah. Would he risk his new life in El Dorado if it meant beating Shaw? Could he risk his life to save others?

When he first started on his journey after Ellie's killers, he'd had the burning need to get revenge to sustain him. Over the years, the fire had died down but stayed lit. Once he had finished his quest, he'd started to take stock of his life. He'd realized that while he wouldn't have changed what he did, he didn't want to be put in that position again. He didn't want to be a man who just looked out for number one, who put himself first. Instead of being selfish, he wanted to put other people first.

He didn't think he had necessarily spent his whole life being selfish. But he'd been naïve and very young. Convinced that there was certain ways to do things, and that any other way wasn't right. But in his travels, he'd realized that there was more to life than right and wrong. He wanted to honor Ellie's memory, the lessons he'd learned from his parents, and everything his friends, both old and new, had shown him. He wanted to see if he had learned enough to be a real man.

That was what he wanted. It seemed that he'd soon have an opportunity to see just how willing he was to live up to that new ideal.

End, Chapter 9


	10. Over the Mountains of the Moon

It was a long, tense night inside the jail. Morgan had returned within a few minutes, saying that Doc Wood was away at a patient's house and wasn't expected back until the morning. With that, the sheriff said there was no sense in sitting up waiting for the doctor.

Chuck wasn't sure that anyone got much sleep-they were all too worried about Casey. By the time the sun was starting to spread its light over the landscape, all of them had given up on sleep in order to get up, talk, and drink more coffee.

Casey sat in a chair, massaging his right hand. "Got some of the feelin' back, but it still ain't gonna help me much in a gunfight."

"Maybe you just need more time," Morgan said quietly.

"Yeah," agreed Chuck, trying to stay positive. "And it's a good sign, I reckon, having some sensation come back."

Casey grunted and got up, carefully pouring himself a cup of coffee with his left hand. He had stubbornly refused any help, even though all of them would be willing to help him. But then, in a situation like this, maybe Casey had to push them aside and do things for himself, because he needed to hold on to the hope that he'd recover.

A knock on the door was followed by the drawling voice of Doc Wood. "Y'all needed a doctor, according to reports?"

Beckman opened the door and Doc Wood stepped inside, followed by a younger man. "Getting two for the price of one today," Doc Wood said. "Meet Doctor Ryan, new graduate of the University of Virginia's medical school. He'll be takin' over for me."

Doctor Ryan was tall, fair, and very young-looking. He reminded Chuck of Devon, because he had that same air of effortless excellence.

Doc Wood walked over to Casey and started examining him, speaking to the other doctor in low tones. After a few moments, Doctor Ryan took over the examination. After a few minutes, the tension rising with each soft "Hmmm" or "Oh, I see" from the doctors, Beckman broke the silence.

"So? What's the word?"

The younger doctor looked at Doc Wood, then spoke in a soft drawl, indicating his Southern roots. "It looks to me that Mr. Casey's injury is becoming increasingly dangerous. He should have surgery immediately."

"Ain't happenin'," Casey said. "Can't be laid up while we've got a range war ready to blow up."

"If you put it off any longer, you risk permanent injury, Mr. Casey," Doctor Ryan said firmly. "At the rate your nerves are recovering, the next attack will be the last one."

"And how much help are you gonna be, Casey, when you can't use your gun hand?" Doc Wood pointed out.

Casey grunted. "Seems like that's my business."

Neither doctor looked happy with that answer. Doctor Ryan opened his mouth to speak, but Doc Wood put a hand on the younger doctor's arm and shook his head.

"Don't put this off much longer, Casey," Doc Wood said. "Until then, you'll wanna keep the muscles warm: massage, hot baths, things like that. If you don't have full feeling back within a day or so, I don't care if Daniel Shaw's leadin' all the angels of Christendom against you folks: you will go under Doctor Ryan's knife, 'cause I'll be holdin' you down."

A stifled snort of laughter erupted from Morgan before he clapped a hand over his mouth. Chuck nearly laughed, too: the mental image of small, frail Doc Wood holding down the strapping John Casey was a hilarious one.

Casey glared at Morgan, then at Doc Wood, before he nodded grudgingly. "A'right, Doc."

"Good enough," the doctor said, putting his flat-topped hat back on his bald head. "Be seeing y'all."

Doctor Ryan tipped his hat to the sheriff. "Ma'am." Then he turned and followed Doc Wood out of the jail.

"At least you'll have someone who's not sixty years old with shaky hands doin' the surgery, Casey," Beckman said.

"Meant what I said-I ain't doin' it until we get this thing with Shaw settled," Casey said, his voice stubborn.

The sheriff sighed. "Well, then we better start figurin' out what we're gonna do."

XXX

An hour of talking over various plans hadn't gotten them anywhere. There seemed to be a problem with every proposed strategy. Most of the time, it was a lack of people; they could only count on the four of them and a few of Miss Gertrude's men. Even Chuck could see that against Ty Bennett and ten experienced gunslingers, that wouldn't be enough.

Chuck had just put on the coffee pot when there was a loud banging on the front door. "Sheriff? Lemme in-it's Jack Walker!"

Chuck looked over at the sheriff, surprised at the urgency in Mr. Walker's voice. She nodded and Chuck quickly opened the door, revealing both Mr. Walker and his only daughter.

It was risky to act differently towards her in front of her father, but Chuck couldn't help a quick, bright smile at Sarah. When she returned his smile weakly, her eyes worried, he knew something was wrong. He edged closer to Sarah, trying to show her some support.

Beckman rose to her feet, looking at their visitors. "Where's the fire, Walker?"

Mr. Walker shoved a grimy piece of paper out to the sheriff. "My oldest boy's been taken. By Shaw."

"What the hell?" Beckman asked, looking shocked as she took the paper and slid her glasses on.

"Adam was out with a Mexican boy, takin' care of the cattle in the back forty. Bunch of Shaw's men jumped him and sent the boy back with this note," Mr. Walker said, running a hand through his hair.

"Shoulda stayed close," Casey said with a grunt.

"Cattle gotta be watered," Mr. Walker said, glaring at Casey.

"Hush up," Beckman said. "So they want to meet with you tomorrow morning, and you'll sign over your water rights to get your son back." She lifted her head and looked at him. "What are you gonna do, Jack?"

"What choice do I have?" he asked, looking at the sheriff. "I'm gonna act like I'll sign and then I'm gonna open fire on those sons-of-bitches, with my family backin' me up."

Beckman set her jaw as she took off her glasses. "There won't be any vigilantes in my town. I know you don't wanna give in, Jack, and I don't want that either. But it's up to me to handle this."

Jack Walker arched an eyebrow. "You think you and this bunch can take Shaw and his gunhand?" He shook his head. "Not a chance."

"Ain't your call, Jack."

"Then what are you gonna do, _Sheriff_?" he said with a sneer, putting extra emphasis on Beckman's title.

Beckman might only be five feet tall, but she acted like a giant. She drew herself up and folded her arms across her chest, fixing her eyes on Mr. Walker. "Morgan, go get Gertie down here. We'll need some of her boys when we attack Shaw's place tomorrow at dawn."

"They'll be expectin' you to do that, Diane," Casey said.

"You think so, Casey?" The sheriff shook her head. "Word's gotten around that your gun hand's shot, thanks to that gossipy doctor. No one around here thinks much of Grimes, and they still don't know Bartowski," Beckman said, her eyes taking them all in.

"I bet right now, Shaw thinks he's got those water rights all sewn up, 'cause he thinks Jack wouldn't come to me and he knows Jack's not about to sacrifice his oldest. No, Shaw's not expectin' an attack at all. So that gives us our openin'," Beckman concluded.

Casey considered this, then shrugged. "Gotta point."

"Right. So, Morgan, git."

Morgan quickly grabbed his hat. "Yes, ma'am."

Beckman moved to her desk and sat down, taking some paper out of a drawer. Chuck watched her, thinking that he now understood why she was sheriff in the first place, and why no one had tried to replace her during her dark days. With the looming fight in front of her, she wasn't shrinking from the challenge. There was a light in her eyes, a fire, that he'd never seen before.

It gave him hope, a belief in the sheriff and what they all could achieve. Chuck hadn't realized how much he needed that.

Jack Walker rested his hands on Beckman's desk, talking to her in low tones. Casey pulled his chair over to the desk and joined the conversation, leaving Chuck and Sarah alone by the door.

He looked down at her and gave her a small smile, one that only showed a fraction of what he felt for her. "Hi," he said quietly.

"Hi, Chuck," she said softly, looking up at him.

"Are you worried about your brother?" he asked, moving a little closer to her.

"A little, but Shaw knows if he hurts him, he won't have anythin' to hold over Pop. And if Adam's hurt, Pop will be mighty mad," she said, managing a small smile.

"Not to mention you," Chuck said, leaning in towards her.

Sarah grinned at him, looking more like herself. "Yep."

"And Sarah Walker's anger is not something to be trifled with," he said, thinking of Shakespeare and his line about women scorned.

"Dunno," she said, shrugging. "Just think that 'cause I'm a woman don't mean I'm not allowed to get angry. And just 'cause I'm female don't mean I'm gonna stand back when I could do somethin' to help."

Chuck nodded. "You're right."

Sarah searched his face, but before she had a chance to say anything, Morgan stepped inside, leading Miss Gertrude.

"We're back, Sheriff," Morgan said, hanging up his hat.

"Yes, I can see that," Beckman said tartly. "Pull up a chair, Gertie."

"Thought I told you not to call me that," Miss Gertrude said, sitting down next to Casey.

"Well, Gertie, I got a lot on my mind right now. See, Adam Walker's gone and got himself snatched by Shaw, so we're gonna go get him and finish this thing with Shaw to boot."

Miss Gertrude looked amused. "You gonna make it snow in July too, while you're doin' the impossible?"

"Funny, Gertie," Beckman said. "Right, Bartowski. Let's see if that time you spent watchin' Shaw's place helps us with more than just watchin' the Ring ride in."

"What the hell's the Ring?" Jack Walker asked, sinking down into a chair across from the sheriff, as Miss Gertrude stood by, looking confused.

"Group that's tryin' to take over the Texas cattle trade. Shaw's move against you was their first big step to get that ball rollin'. When you didn't fall in line, they sent in a bunch of gunfighters. So stoppin' Shaw is about more than gettin' him off your back, Walker," the sheriff explained crisply.

Chuck noticed Sarah's double-take at the sheriff's words. He looked at her and whispered quickly, "That's why I was watching Shaw's place: we were getting info on the Ring."

She gazed up at him, then she quickly sneaked her hand into his. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, then let go before walking over to sit next to her father.

And like that, a weight that Chuck hadn't known he was carrying was lifted from his shoulders.

A throat being cleared drew Chuck's attention, and he realized they were waiting on him. "Oh!" He quickly walked over to the sheriff's desk. "What do you want to know, Sheriff?"

"Gonna need to know what buildings are on the Shaw ranch. We need a map of the place," she said, looking up at him with a pencil poised over a large sheet of brown wrapping paper. "So we'll know the best places to take position."

"Okay . . ." Chuck said, taking a moment to picture Shaw's ranch in his mind. "This is all rough, but . . . the house faces west, running north-south. The stable's just behind the house's south end. There's a building in front of the house, near the path that leads up to the front door, about thirty feet from the house. I guess it's some kind of gatehouse."

He paused as Beckman sketched in those details, then kept going. "There's a barn about . . . a hundred and fifty feet away from the back side of the house, towards the northeast. Behind the house, there's a few other small buildings. One of them is the kitchen, I think." He paused and looked at the sheriff. "There aren't any other structures closer than a hundred yards to the house."

Casey and Beckman exchanged looks before the sheriff spoke. "That's good, Chuck." She looked at everyone gathered around her desk. "Okay, so this is what we've got to work with. How we gonna win this fight?"

XXX

It was dusk by the time they had their plan for the next day figured out. There had been a lot of arguing, starting with Miss Gertrude protesting about Casey being involved while his injury was still affecting him and refusing to help if he was part of this. Casey said his hand was up to about fifty percent by now, but Miss Gertrude hadn't been reassured by that. It was only when Chuck volunteered to serve as Casey's backup that Miss Gertrude had agreed to allow her men to participate in the attack.

Morgan had dug his heels in and said that they had to make sure Alejandra and the other servants, who were all blameless in this fight, were safe before things got started. Miss Gertrude had backed him up, and so the plan was adjusted to allow for the escape of the servants before any shooting started.

Chuck had made several pots of coffee, and Morgan had broken out some crackers and slightly-moldy cheese when hunger got to be too great. But now, with the work done and everyone desperate for fresh air, a hot meal, and sleep in that order, they were splitting up and going their separate ways for the evening, before reconvening at the Walker homestead tomorrow at first light.

Sarah followed her father out of the jail without giving Chuck a backwards glance. He wondered if she was worrying about her brother, or about her part in the plan. Or maybe she wasn't happy about where he'd be sleeping tonight.

To be ready for tomorrow, Chuck and Morgan would be staying at the Walker ranch tonight, bedding down in the barn. They'd also get dinner at the Walkers', something that Chuck was looking forward to based on his experiences with Rosa's cooking. Hopefully, the meal would help smooth over any awkward moments which were bound to occur. He'd never had a meal with the family of the girl that he was in love with, after all.

As Morgan drove the two of them out to the Walker ranch in an old wagon, he glanced over at Chuck. "Somethin' on your mind, buddy?"

Chuck took a deep breath of the cool twilight air. "Just . . . just thinking about tonight. And tomorrow."

His friend nodded. "Yeah. Me, too. I'm sorry about bein' so firm about Alejandra, but-"

"No need to apologize, Morgan," Chuck said. "You care about her. Of course you want to keep her safe."

"I do," Morgan said, glancing at Chuck. "You don't reckon the sheriff's angry at me, do ya?"

"Not at all," Chuck said. He patted Morgan on the back. "I think Beckman and Casey were both really impressed with you standing your ground."

"You think?" Morgan's face lit up with a grin.

Chuck nodded and smiled, letting a silence fall between them. As they got closer and closer to the Walker house, Chuck felt his nerves increasing. He fidgeted with his hat and shifted on the plank seat, bumping Morgan's elbow a few times. His friend didn't say anything until they were nearly at the Walkers'.

"You a'right, Chuck?"

With a sigh, Chuck looked at Morgan, considering whether to unburden himself. "I just . . . Sarah left without saying anything to me, and I know it's the last thing I should be worrying about, but I can't help it."

"Chuck, there's a lot goin' on right now . . . she probably didn't mean anythin' by it."

"Yeah," Chuck said. "I know you're right." He gazed off into space. "You ever feel like there's so many people you don't want to disappoint, and so you put a lot of pressure on yourself, and what if you don't live up to their expectations, and what if you can only make some people happy and not everyone-how do you choose?"

"Whoa, Chuck," Morgan said, holding up a hand. "You gotta calm down. No need to freak out like this. Like a chicken gettin' his head chopped off."

He blew out a breath, knowing that Morgan was right. "I don't want to let anyone down."

"You're not gonna, Chuck. Tonight, we're gonna have the best meal we've eaten in a while, then we're gonna get some sleep, but not before you talk to Sarah and make sure everything's good between you two. And tomorrow, we'll all ride off to save Sarah's brother, the town of El Dorado, and hell, West Texas in the bargain."

Chuck looked at Morgan, very impressed. His friend had talents he'd had no idea about, like the ability to deliver a pretty good St. Crispin's Day speech. He grinned at Morgan and nodded. "Y'know what, Morgan? If you're there, I think we've got a good shot."

Morgan's face flushed, but he smiled back at Chuck as he pulled up in front of the Walker ranch. "Funny, I was thinkin' the same thing about you, Chuck."

XXX

Morgan had been right about one thing: the dinner was one of the best he'd ever eaten. Rosa had pulled out all the stops, with three roasted chickens, piles of beans and rice, and a corn and tomato dish that was like eating summer. To top it all off, dessert was a gingerbread rich with spices and topped with whipped cream.

Chuck and Morgan had both eaten a lot, if only to make up for the Walkers' lack of appetite. The whole family barely ate anything, and only seemed to eat in order to spare their cook's feelings.

The Walkers were worried about Adam's fate, Chuck guessed. He couldn't blame them-he'd feel the same way if this had happened to Ellie. Although the silence felt awkward to him, he followed Morgan's lead and mostly kept his mouth shut except for eating. That meant he mostly watched Sarah through dinner, trying to catch her eye.

Dinner was nearly over before she finally looked at him long enough to realize he had something to say to her. She nodded, and Chuck felt relieved that he'd get to talk to her and make sure she was doing okay.

Jack Walker finally pulled his napkin from the neck of his shirt. "Get to bed, everyone-we've got a big day ahead of us." He stood and walked out of the dining room, followed by various servants and his sons.

Sarah leaned across the table and whispered to Chuck. "I'll come to the barn in a half hour."

"Okay," he whispered back, giving her a small smile before following Morgan out into the barn.

Fortunately, this barn was used for storing hay and wagons, not animals, so it was a pleasant, clean-smelling place. There was a loft that extended out over a quarter of the barn's floor of hard-packed dirt covered in hay and straw.

Chuck looked at Morgan. "Where do you think we should sleep?"

Morgan looked at him for a moment, his eyes narrowed, before his expression lightened. "If you're gonna be talkin' to Sarah, I think you should take the loft. I'll bed down here," he said, gesturing to the floor by the doorway.

He felt his ears flush. "It'd be more comfortable for you in the loft, and . . . and nothing's going to happen with me and Sarah . . ."

"I know that," Morgan said. "But if I was in your shoes, I'd wanna have some privacy. So go on." He handed Chuck two of the blankets he had brought out to the barn.

"Okay . . . thanks, Morgan," Chuck said, still feeling embarrassed. He turned and quickly climbed up the ladder into the loft.

With a half hour to kill before he could expect to see Sarah, Chuck took his time arranging his sleeping quarters for the night. The hayloft was filled with bales of hay as well as loose straw, providing something soft to sleep on. He spread one of the blankets over the hay, hoping it would be comfortable. Then he unbuckled his gun belt and set it down along with his hat. He shucked off his vest and considered whether to take his boots off, before deciding against it. With nothing else to do, he sat down near the ladder, letting his legs swing a little as they dangled over the edge of the loft.

Morgan was rolled up in his blankets, snoring softly, by the time Sarah stepped into the barn. Her eyes roamed around, then lifted and met his. She smiled softly at him, her eyes sparkling, and Chuck couldn't help smiling back. He watched as she crossed the floor to the ladder and nimbly climbed up into the loft. She settled down next to him, sitting quite close to him.

Chuck swallowed, feeling warm from her closeness. "Hello."

She laughed softly. "Hello, yourself." She leaned up and lightly kissed him.

He kissed her back for a moment, then pulled away. "You're not mad at me."

"Is that what you're thinkin' is goin' on?" Sarah asked, sounding amused.

Chuck shrugged and smiled at her sheepishly. "I know you have a lot on your mind right now, but I wasn't sure if I had done something wrong . . ."

"Trust me, Chuck," she said, laying a hand on his knee and sending sparks through his whole body, "if you had done anythin' wrong, you'd know. As it is, in all this craziness that's been goin' on, you've been the one good thing."

The smile on his face might be bright enough to light up the whole barn, he thought giddily. He gave in to the giddy happiness that was filling him by kissing her.

Her lips were soft, moving against his in a gentle kiss. He wrapped an arm around her, daring to pull her even closer to him. Chuck felt his eyes slip shut, losing himself in this, in her.

Was this normal? This feeling of completion he felt when he touched her? Was this what love was? He was becoming more sure by the minute that he loved Sarah. And he wanted to keep feeling this for as long as he could.

They kept kissing, Chuck's hand rubbing lightly against her back as he tried to find what she liked. Sarah reached out, her calloused fingertips sliding along his jaw. He opened his eyes, finding her looking up at him with those soft blue eyes.

His words came without conscious thought. "You're so pretty."

With a soft snort, she dropped her hand from his jaw. "No need to flatter me, y'know."

"It's not flattery," Chuck insisted. "You're the prettiest woman I've ever seen." He looked at her for a moment, not knowing why she doubted him. "In fact, you're beautiful."

She rolled her eyes and shifted away from him enough for his arm to fall away from her. "No, I'm not. Bein' pretty is completely useless."

Chuck tilted his head. "That's true-if something is beautiful, that usually means it has no purpose, no use, other than just being. And that's definitely not you." He took in Sarah's flushed cheeks, hoping that he was convincing her with his words. "But from the moment I met you, I thought you were beautiful. So I guess until I find the word that describes something that's beautiful and useful, we'll have to use the inaccurate word."

It took a long moment before she responded. But when she did, her voice was soft, and she slid over until her side was against his.

"You are . . . you are so aggravatin', Chuck Bartowski. 'Cause I wasn't ready for you to be so sweet." She nudged his shoulder with her own.

Feeling an extra confidence in himself, he grinned and wrapped his arm around her again. "It's sweet to tell the truth? I'll have to remember that."

She laughed. "No, but I'm just gonna keep you in suspense 'bout how you're bein' sweet. Don't want you gettin' a big head."

"Oh, I think you'll see that won't ever happen, Sarah," he said, grinning at her.

"That so?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, her expression challenging.

"Yep," he said, leaning in and stealing a quick, soft kiss from her.

She kissed him back, but he could tell she was distracted. When he looked at her, he saw that her brows were knit together. "Chuck?"

He lightly ran the thumb of his free hand over her brows. "Yes?"

"Just what are you intendin'? For . . . for you and me, I mean." Her eyes searched his face, her expression thoughtful. "I know you said you wanted us to be together, and you said that you . . . that you love me," she said, her cheeks going pink. "But what does that mean exactly?"

Chuck took a breath. She had every right to be asking him that question, to find out what his intentions were. This moment could change everything for them. So he took the time to collect his thoughts before speaking.

"I . . . I want-no, what I mean to say is, I'd like us to spend more time together, since there's still a lot for us to learn about each other." He looked into her eyes and spoke softly. "I'm hoping after a year or so, we'll know for sure if that's what we want, and we'll make things official between us. Because I think it'll take a good fifty or sixty years before I really know you, and that's what I want, Sarah. To know everything about you."

Her eyes widened. "Really? That's what you want? With me?"

He could only nod before Sarah wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. "Is-is that okay?" he asked, raising his hand and stroking her back.

She nodded, her face pressed against his neck, then pulled away enough to smile up at him. "I'm okay with that."

Did that mean that . . . ? "Sarah?" His voice cracked slightly, and he swallowed and tried again. "I don't wanna push you, but you said you weren't sure if you were ready to leap before . . ."

"That is what I said," she said, her arms still wrapped around him. Her hands plucked at his shirt collar a little. "But . . . but with everything that's happenin', seein' how Adam's wife is actin' 'cause she's worried she's never gonna see him alive again . . ." Sarah's voice trailed off and she shrugged. "Just seems silly to not get things settled between us."

"That so?" he asked, his voice choked with emotion.

She nodded, her hands stroking his shoulders. "Yeah." She looked up at him. "I needed the time to think, and the fact that you lemme have it . . . well, that went a long way towards makin' up my mind."

There was so much he wanted to say. About how he loved her, he respected her, he wanted to give her whatever her heart desired-and that was just the tip of the iceberg. But all of those things were easy to say. The real challenge was showing her that he meant them. And that's what he wanted to do: show her, every day, how much he loved her.

After a moment, a slow grin spread over Sarah's beautiful, perfect face. "Right about now would be an excellent time for kissin', Chuck."

He did his best to muffle his laughter so he wouldn't wake up Morgan. She always seemed to know the right thing to say, and this was no exception. And it wasn't wise to keep Sarah Walker waiting, so he leaned in and kissed her slowly.

Maybe it was his imagination, but this kiss felt different. Deeper, more intimate. After all, in so many words he'd proposed to Sarah and she'd accepted. That changed things. And that change made him bolder and braver than he'd ever imagined he would be.

As if they had a mind of their own, his hands started to wander over her, exploring the body that he had kept noticing whenever he saw her. Chuck had always felt he was a considerate, respectable man, but something about Sarah made his blood heat up. Made him want and need her like a body needed air.

Just because his hands tingled when he touched her didn't give him the rights to go too far, though. He knew that, so even though it might be the hardest thing he'd ever done, he kept his hands to her back, her arms, her hair and her neck.

Sarah didn't seem to be following those rules, though. Her hands had migrated from his back to his sides as she pressed against his chest as best she could from her current position. After a few moments to enjoy the feeling of her body, Chuck made himself pull back, needing both air and space.

Between pants, he managed to speak. "Sarah-we should slow down . . ."

"And why's that, Chuck?" She shifted, pulling her legs from where they had been dangling over the edge of the loft and rose up on her knees, moving closer to him. "Don't you like kissin' me?"

He gaped at her. "Of-of course I do! More than anything, you're amazing, but-"

"Then why don't we just keep goin'?" she interrupted, resting her hands on his shoulders and leaning in towards him.

"Umm . . ." was the only response he could come up with before she kissed him slowly. He closed his eyes, losing himself in her. But when her hand slid down his shirt and tugged on it, pulling it free from the waistband of his pants, he broke away from her with a gasp. "Sarah!"

"Chuck, it's okay," she said, her voice sounding breathy. "I knew what I was gettin' myself in for when I climbed up into the hayloft."

"What?" he spluttered as he gaped at her, completely confused.

The flush on Sarah's face and the dazed expression in her eyes suddenly faded, like a bucket of water had been dumped on her. "Chuck, c'mon, everyone knows about the Walker hayloft."

"I-I don't," Chuck said, stumbling a little over his words.

Sarah frowned. "Then why did you come on up here?"

Chuck swallowed, getting a bad feeling about all this. "Morgan said we could use the privacy . . ."

She let out a soft snort. "Well, he's right there, but he also tricked you a bit." Sarah smiled at him a little, but her eyes were full of embarrassment. "The hayloft in this barn is . . . kinda famous. There's been a lotta couples who have come up here, and-" She paused, her cheeks flushing, before she continued. "Well, all of 'em have happy marriages with a lotta kids."

"Oh," Chuck said, feeling his face turn red.

"Yeah, it's kinda tradition for most couples to visit the hayloft if they're serious 'bout one another. Kinda a good luck charm," Sarah said. "So when I saw you up here . . ."

"You thought that's what I was saying," Chuck said.

She nodded, looking down and fidgeting, her hands rubbing against her trousers. "I wasn't sure if you really meant that, so that's why I asked you about what you were intendin'."

Chuck nodded. He reached out and stroked her hair lightly. "I didn't know the stories about this hayloft. But that doesn't mean I didn't mean what I said, Sarah."

"No, I know that," she said. "I mean, you not knowin' those stories-that means that what you said was the honest truth."

"Yeah. It is." He gazed at her. "Sarah?"

"Yeah, Chuck?" she asked, gazing up at him.

He swallowed. "Would you stay here? Tonight? With me, I mean." He gestured over to the pallet he had made earlier. "I just want to have some extra time with you before tomorrow, and I'm not looking for anything more than to just hold you close while we sleep. I'd be the perfect gentleman, I swear it."

His request for her to stay with him was very improper. He knew that, but he just wanted to face whatever would happen tomorrow knowing what it was like to hold Sarah Walker while she slept.

Sarah's eyes locked on his. It was like she was searching for something that would help her make her decision. Whether she was trying to read his expression or get a glimpse of his soul, Chuck wasn't sure. But after a moment, she must have found whatever she was looking for, because she nodded slowly.

"Really? You'll stay?" he asked, his voice hushed from the gravity of the moment.

"Well," she said, a teasing note in her voice and a grin on her lips, "I'm not sure how I feel about you bein' a perfect gentleman-I think that's a bit unnecessary, but . . ." She looked at him, her grin fading into a soft smile and her voice growing serious, "But it's very sweet of you, and I'm not ready to leave yet, so . . . yes."

He smiled back widely at her, a bit embarrassed at how happy she could make him. Standing up carefully, he held his hand out to her. "Then come with me."

She took his hand, coming to her feet gracefully. They walked hand in hand to the bed he had created earlier, and approaching that bed made the reality of this situation sink in for him.

"Um . . . I'll get this rearranged," he said, dropping her hand. He leaned down, adjusting the blankets and spreading them out.

When he glanced up at her, she looked surprised. "What?" he asked, pausing in his work.

"Nothing!" she said. "I just . . . I can't see my father or my brothers fussin' with the blankets like that. It's too close to women's work for 'em. But I like that you don't mind."

He smiled at her, shrugging a shoulder. "Men's work, women's work, it's all work. What does it matter who does it?"

She nodded, still looking a bit surprised, then she smiled at him. "Good point." She rested a hand on his shoulder, bracing herself as she toed off each of her boots. She then undid the belt around her small waist and slid it out of the belt loops of her pants.

Chuck knew he was staring. He knew this wasn't perfect gentleman behavior. But she was just so confident. So sure of herself. And when she wasn't, when she let him see her uncertainty and her vulnerability, it made that confidence even more attractive. He felt the urge to reach out, to pull her into his arms and kiss her and never let her go until they were one.

Swallowing hard, Chuck stood quickly. There'd be no putting such thoughts into action tonight. He stood on one foot as he yanked on his boot, hopping a little as he pulled it off. He repeated the process with his other boot, then hesitated before pulling off his own belt.

Sarah had been watching him, biting lightly on her lower lip. He knew that with all her brothers, she was used to men, but he wondered if she felt any butterflies herself. He took a deep breath, very aware of Sarah's eyes on him. "Go ahead," he said, waving his hand towards their makeshift bed. "Get comfortable."

"Yeah . . ." Sarah said, her voice a bit high. She turned and slid underneath the blanket, the hay underneath her rustling.

Waiting until she stopped moving, Chuck slowly approached her. He felt clumsy as he crawled into the bed next to her, trying not to jab her with an elbow or a knee as he searched for a sleeping position.

"Here," she said softly, shifting so that her body was curled up against his, her head lightly resting against his chest just over his heart. She gently tugged one of his arms over her ribcage, and her feet brushed against his. She looked up at him. "Okay?"

He cleared his throat before replying. "Yeah." It was more than okay, to have her soft yet firm body so close to his, feet and knees and torsos coming into contact. "Never . . . never shared a bed with someone before. I mean, like this."

She smiled up at him. "Me, neither. But this is real nice."

All he could do was nod, and Sarah smiled wider. She closed her eyes and rested against him.

Chuck tucked his free arm underneath his head. His other hand moved lightly over her lower back, and with each pass of his fingers he felt her body relaxing more.

"More than nice," she said sleepily.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "You know, Sarah, after tonight, I'm going to have a hard time not asking you to marry me. Officially, I mean, instead of waiting a year."

He wasn't sure if she heard him, or if she had fallen asleep. He closed his eyes, almost wishing she hadn't heard him. But then, she spoke softly, words that made his eyes pop open. "I'd have a hard time not sayin' yes." She cuddled up against him. "G'night, Chuck."

"Good night, Sarah," he said softly, savoring the sweetness of this moment. To say good night to her, and know that it was just the first of many.

He'd already been determined that he'd do his part tomorrow, find a way to survive. But now that he had Sarah to live for, it made his determination harden into something firmer, stronger. No matter what, he wanted to live through tomorrow. He wanted to marry Sarah, give her everything she wanted, and spend every day loving her.

After tomorrow morning, he'd have his whole future ahead of him. He just had to do his part and hope for the best.

Chuck closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of Sarah against his body as he fell asleep.

End, Chapter 10


	11. Down the Valley of the Shadow

The rustle of hay and a sudden chill shifted Chuck from asleep to awake. He blinked, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dimness in the barn. Looking to his side, he saw Sarah sitting up, her back to him.

He spoke softly, not wanting to startle her. "Sarah?"

She turned her head and gazed at him over her shoulder. "Hi."

"Are you okay?" he asked, propping himself up on one elbow. If she had been moving around more, he'd suspect she was preparing to leave, to slip back into the house. He'd understand that, but the fact that she was just sitting there was confusing him.

"I'm fine," she whispered, turning to face him. "I woke up and I-I just started thinkin'. About what I always wanted, about what I want now . . ."

Chuck pushed himself up into a sitting position and faced her. "You said you wanted to travel."

She nodded. "Yeah. See a bit more of the world-be different from all the other women in town, settlin' down and raisin' babies and . . . and never havin' nothing for themselves."

"Sarah, you can still have that." He reached out and took her hand.

"Can I?" she asked, looking at him. "If we're gettin' married . . . babies have a way of comin' quick after that, Chuck."

"I know that," he said, moving closer to her. "But who's to say we have to settle down right away?" He searched her face as his thoughts raced. "Lots of people go on wedding trips, after they get married. We could do that-but we'd just do a long one. Say, about a year or so."

Sarah's face lit up. "You think so? You'd wanna travel for that long?"

"Why not?" Chuck asked. "I never got to see much when I was moving around, and you want to see more of the world, so why can't we take a year and travel, and then we'll . . . well, I'd like to come back here, but we can talk more about that when the time comes."

The smile on Sarah's face was dazzling. He was surprised it didn't light up the barn-it certainly made him feel like the sun had come up early.

She let go of his hand and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing her lips against his. Chuck closed his eyes and kissed her back, enjoying the feel of her. He still felt sleepy, like he might be dreaming this warm, soft, amazing woman.

Sarah moved closer to him, one hand lightly brushing over the curls against the back of his neck. Something about the intimate gesture made him deepen the kiss. He wanted even more. Tugging on her, he drew Sarah into his lap, pressing his hands against her back.

With a soft gasp, Sarah slid her hand into his hair, holding on to him tighter. He looked at her quickly, getting a glimpse of her flushed face and wide eyes, before he kissed her with a hunger he didn't know he possessed.

After a few moments, he felt Sarah's free hand pressing against his chest. He broke the kiss, staring at her as he panted. Her cheeks were pink and her hair was mussed, and he felt a wave of love and affection and passion, all for her.

Her voice was breathy and her words came in starts. "I-I don't wanna stop, but I think-I think we better."

Chuck swallowed, slowly catching his breath. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right." He looked at her. "I just got carried away . . ."

She gave him an amused smile. "You weren't the only one. But it's not the right time." She gazed at him, her fingers playing with his hair. "Soon, though," she said softly.

He nodded. "Soon." He smiled at her and gently lifted her off his lap. "Did you want to go back to the house?"

"I should," Sarah said with a sigh, pulling her hands away from him. She ran a hand through her hair, then started straightening her clothes.

As he watched her, the idea that had been in the back of his mind for days, the one that he'd kept putting off doing-it finally seemed like the right time. "Sarah?"

"Yeah, Chuck?" she said, a bit distracted as she slid her belt back through her belt loops.

"I . . . I have something I want to give you," he said, reaching into the pocket of his trousers.

Sarah looked at him, her face uncertain, as he drew out a heart-shaped locket, minus its chain.

"This was my sister's," he said. "I've kept it ever since her death. But now-now I want to give it to you."

He could see her swallow. "Chuck . . . are you sure?"

"Yeah," he said. "I've been thinking about it for a few days, and . . . Ellie would like you to have it. You don't have to wear it. I don't have the chain anymore-I pawned that a few years back, but I kept the locket, and Ellie would want me to give this to someone I cared about, so I want you to have this, too." He looked at her, holding the locket out to her, hoping that she understand how important this trinket was.

After a moment of looking at the locket, Sarah lifted her eyes to his. And the soft, happy expression on her face made him realize everything was all right.

Sarah kissed him softly, then took the locket. "Thank you, Chuck." She slid it into the pocket of her trousers. "I'll treasure this."

He smiled brightly at her. "I know."

She smiled back, then started pulling on her boots. "I'll see you at breakfast." After her boots were back on, she kissed him again, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. He returned the gesture, then watched her walk away from him. When she reached the ladder and turned to climb down to the barn floor, she paused and looked at him, and Chuck gave her a wave. She grinned brightly at him and whispered, "G'night."

"Good night," he called after her softly as she vanished down the ladder. There was still an hour or so until the dawn, he guessed. Getting some more sleep would be the wise choice. Chuck laid down, gazing up at the barn ceiling as he waited to see if he could drift off. But his mind was so busy with thoughts of Sarah and what the upcoming day held that there was no chance of more sleep. He was still lost in his thoughts when a servant woke up Morgan and announced that the sun was up.

XXX

After washing up and a hurried breakfast, Chuck and Morgan stepped out onto the front porch of the Walker house. The three Walker brothers were milling around, talking softly. Chuck leaned against the porch rail, sipping a second cup of coffee. He felt butterflies in his stomach now that the fight was so close. He closed his eyes, taking a few moments to collect his thoughts and settle his nerves.

When he opened his eyes, Sarah had joined them on the porch. He smiled at her, noticing how she had changed her clothes and had even pulled her hair back into a ponytail. He nodded at the glass of milk in her hand. "I thought you didn't like coffee."

"I don't," she said, sipping her milk. "But I didn't wanna let on to that, since I'm already different enough."

He grinned. "Well, I'm glad to know something real about you."

She smiled at him before stepping away to talk with one of her brothers. Chuck kept sipping his coffee, watching her and talking with Morgan, until a rattling wagon announced the arrival of the sheriff and Casey. They were followed by another wagon containing Miss Gertrude's men: four men of various sizes, all of whom had the look of being experienced with guns.

Mr. Walker came out on the porch and looked at Beckman. "Well, Sheriff, seems like it's time."

"Yep," Beckman said, swinging down from the wagon and facing Mr. Walker. "Everyone know what they're doing?"

Nods were seen all around, and Beckman looked at them all for a long moment. "A'right, folks, then do your jobs."

Morgan looked at Chuck and smiled, looking nervous. "Good luck, Chuck."

"Good luck to you, too," he said, swallowing. Now that they were getting started, it all felt very real to him. The thought that in an hour or so, things would be very different from how they were now, was a sobering one.

Chuck pushed away from the railing, heading towards the wagon that Casey was now driving. He paused and looked for Sarah, managing to catch her eyes for a moment. In that moment, they said a hundred different things without speaking a word. Then, Sarah gave him a small smile and headed toward her family's stables and Chuck climbed into the back of the wagon.

Casey snorted. "You and the Wildcat done makin' goo-goo eyes at each other?"

"For now," Chuck said lightly, not bothered by Casey's jibes. "How's your hand?"

"Not all the way there, but no worse than yesterday," Casey said with a shrug. "You all set back there?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," Chuck said, making room for himself among a few rifles and boxes of ammunition.

Two of Sarah's brothers had climbed into the wagon with Miss Gertrude's men, while her brother Johnny had followed Sarah to the stable. Morgan had already taken his place on the driver's seat of the wagon that he and Chuck had driven out yesterday and started driving to Shaw's place.

Beckman climbed back up to join Casey on the wagon bench. "Let's go, Casey."

Casey nodded and picked up the reins a bit clumsily, setting the horses moving. They followed Mr. Walker, who was riding towards the Shaw ranch. Mr. Walker would go alone to Shaw and playact that he was going to exchange his water rights for his son, and then Beckman and Casey would interrupt the proceedings and buy Morgan enough time to get the servants out.

When the servants were safe, Morgan would give the signal, and that's when the fight would begin.

Chuck laid down in the bed of the wagon, the high sides concealing him from view. He breathed slowly, looking up at the sky and trying to stay calm and focused. The success of this plan didn't hinge on him, it was true. Yet he had a part to play, and he couldn't let his nerves interfere. By the time the wagon came to a stop, Chuck felt less stomach-churning fear and self-doubt.

"Okay back there, Bartowski?" The sheriff turned around on the wagon seat, looking down at him.

"Yeah, Sheriff," he said.

She smiled, a bit sympathetically. "Nervous?"

He nodded, knowing that there was no sense in denying it.

"Figured. Just remember to breathe, and things'll work out," she said.

"Yeah," Chuck said quietly. "Breathing. Breathing is good. And very important."

The sheriff chuckled and turned back around on the seat, leaving Chuck alone with his thoughts while they waited.

XXX

It was about ten minutes later that they started moving again. Chuck looked over his gun and made sure his knife was still secure, then double-checked that the rifles were loaded and ready. He stretched out, making sure he was flat against the bed of the wagon, and waited.

The sound of men's voices grew louder, and soon Chuck could hear Mr. Walker arguing with Daniel Shaw.

" . . . I wanna see my boy! You're not gettin' anything signed 'til I know he's a'right!"

"Patience, Mr. Walker." Shaw's voice was silky-smooth, giving the impression that he was talking about the weather. "I want confirmation that you're serious about following through on my little offer."

"Your ultimatum!" Jack Walker was certainly acting the part of an outraged father, Chuck thought.

"That's how you see it, Mr. Walker, now . . ." Shaw's voice trailed off, and Chuck wasn't sure what was going on until he spoke again. "What's the meaning of this, Sheriff Beckman?"

"Got word from Jack here that you took his boy," Beckman said bluntly. "So you're gonna hand him over now and I'm gonna hold you for kidnapping an' attempted extortion."

"No tricks, eh, Walker?" Shaw asked, the disdain thick in his voice. "Should have known you weren't to be trusted."

"Not when one of my own is at risk," Jack Walker retorted.

It wasn't the time to think about this, but Chuck couldn't help comparing Mr. Walker's attitude about his son versus what he'd said about Sarah. The injustice of it all once again struck him, and he marveled that Sarah wasn't more bitter about her ill-treatment at the hands of her father.

Chuck heard the cocking of a gun and felt the wagon shake from what he assumed was Beckman climbing down. "Shaw, bring out Adam Walker."

"Why should I?" Shaw didn't seem rattled by the sheriff holding a gun on him. "I haven't gotten what I want, and I have plenty of men to help me get it."

"If you wanna have any chance of gettin' what you want, you'll humor us and prove no harm's come to Adam Walker." Beckman's voice was icy.

A deep sigh, and then Shaw gritted out, "Very well."

There was the sound of rustling feet and then Mr. Walker spoke loudly. "Adam! You a'right?"

"Yes, Pop," came a voice which Chuck recognized as belonging to Sarah's oldest brother. He took a breath and thought to himself, "Come on, Morgan, come on . . ."

"As you can see, young Mr. Walker is fine. He's been treated like a guest, so there's no call to act like he was chained up and surviving on bread and water."

Chuck grimaced. Shaw was really annoying.

"I can see that, Shaw, but-"

Whatever the sheriff was going to say, she didn't get the chance to finish her sentence. A loud, piercing bugle call rang through the clear morning air.

That was the signal from Morgan that Alejandra and the other servants were out of the house and on their way to El Dorado. And it was the signal to begin the attack.

Before the bugle call ended, three things happened. Beckman and Mr. Walker immediately started shooting at Shaw and his men, while Mr. Walker yelled at Adam to hit the ground.

With a loud "Hi-yah!" Casey whipped the horses and turned the wagon towards the abandoned gatehouse.

Chuck sat up, firing his shotgun and providing cover for Casey and himself. He saw that the sheriff and Mr. Walker had taken cover behind a large rock, while Ty Bennett and two of the Ring's gunslingers were firing back at them, moving slowly back towards the house and the protection it provided. Daniel Shaw was already running towards the house.

Gunfire echoed from all directions; the remaining Ring-provided gunhands had opened fire from the house. Keeping them pinned down was the shots fired by Miss Gertrude's men and the other Walker brothers from the barn towards the house. That would prevent the men in the house from sneaking out the back door and getting to the stable. At least, that's what Beckman had said when they had planned out their strategy.

He kept firing, deliberately aiming high. He wasn't going to shoot anyone if he could help it, especially not when his priority was keeping Casey safe. He noticed that another part of the plan had come together: Sarah had appeared from her hiding place and pulled Adam up behind her on her horse, before turning and galloping to safety.

Within a few moments, Casey had gotten them to the gatehouse. Chuck wiggled to the end of the wagon, still firing, and jumped down. He snatched up the rifles and handed them to Casey, who awkwardly took them. Chuck fired another shot, scooped up the extra boxes of ammo, and dashed after Casey into the gatehouse.

"Okay, Casey?" he asked between pants.

"Yeah, yeah," Casey said, his voice tight. He tossed one of the rifles to Chuck, who somehow managed to catch it. "Gimme some ammo."

"You can't load with your hand," Chuck said, taking up position near Casey. He peeked out through a window and quickly fired his shotgun, then holstered it and got ready with the rifle.

Casey grunted. "Take low, I'll take high."

Chuck nodded and crouched down by the doorway while Casey aimed through the window next to him. Together, the two of them started firing.

XXX

Wiping an arm quickly across his face to remove some of the sweat pouring off him, Chuck paused to reload. "Casey!" His voice was scratchy, the smoke in the air affecting him. "You all right?"

He'd noticed that Casey was firing slowly and deliberately. Perhaps Casey's hand was bothering him and he didn't want to admit to it.

Casey sighed and turned towards Chuck. "Whaddya think?"

It didn't sink in at first. Not until Chuck saw the blood streaming down Casey's right leg.

"Casey!" Chuck set down his rifle and got up, immediately pulling Casey's right arm over his shoulders. "C'mon, over here." He half-walked, half-dragged Casey towards the far wall, then clumsily helped him sit down.

The sight of blood never failed to make Chuck feel nauseous, and this time was no different. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, pushing down the bile, then looked at Casey. "Gimme your bandana. I'll try and stop the bleeding."

"Ain't no use," Casey said, his voice sounding thin. "Leave me and keep shootin'."

"Not without taking care of you first," Chuck said, yanking at Casey's bandana and shaking it out. He leaned down to wrap the piece of cloth around Casey's leg, trying to ignore the increasing number of pings from bullets hitting the gatehouse's walls.

"You gotta hold the line, Bartowski," Casey muttered.

"I know!" Chuck scrambled to his feet and went back towards the front of the gatehouse, peering out through the window to get a sense of how the battle was going.

As best as he could tell, they were at a stalemate. Bennett and another man were shooting from the front porch of the house, Shaw crouching next to them. A body lay on the ground about fifteen yards in front of the house. Chuck assumed it was the second gunslinger that had been with Shaw and Bennett when the shooting started.

Chuck craned his neck, trying to see the sheriff and Mr. Walker. They were still crouching behind the large rock, fifty feet away. There didn't seem to be any way to get word to them. If he left the cover of the gatehouse, he'd be a sitting duck. Plus, he couldn't leave Casey alone. With all the noise, it was unlikely that they'd be able to hear him if he shouted, but he had to try.

"Sheriff!" he yelled. "Beckman!"

"No use, Chuck," Casey said.

His voice was a lot closer than it should be, and Chuck looked over his shoulder, seeing Casey had somehow managed to walk or crawl until he was crouched by the door, his injured right leg stretched out to the side.

"Load a rifle for me," Casey demanded.

"Casey . . ."

"Load it!" he barked.

"Okay, okay," Chuck said quickly, scooping up one of the rifles. He quickly shoved some ammunition into the gun, then handed it to Casey.

"I'll take low this time." The older man looked out through the doorway, then moved back under cover. "Keep your eyes open-they gotta be plannin' somethin', like an escape."

Chuck nodded as he loaded his rifle. "Right, okay."

"Bartowski."

He looked at Casey, swallowing. "Y-yeah?"

"Ain't no different from shootin' at cans. You hear me?" Casey's face was drawn, but his blue eyes were lit with the fire of battle. "Just aim and shoot."

"Aim and shoot," Chuck repeated. Casey was right. He couldn't think of this as any different from his shooting practice in the corral behind the jail. If he could stay calm, he could do his part, help end this fight. Survive and get the life he wanted.

Casey nodded. "Aim and shoot. Let's go."

Chuck looked out quickly through the window, then turned back and fired. Casey also started shooting, timing his shots for when Chuck had ducked for cover. It almost became a piece of music as they kept shooting, concentrating their fire on one end of Shaw's ranch house.

XXX

They were down to half a box of ammo when Shaw and Bennett vanished from the front of the house.

"Where'd they go?" Chuck called out to Casey, his voice loud in the sudden silence.

"Went in through the window," he replied, lowering his rifle. "This ain't good."

"Yeah," Chuck said, frowning.

With the Ring's forces pinned down inside the house, the gunfire had stopped. Casey leaned out the doorway cautiously and called out, "Diane!"

He had some kind of silent conversation with the sheriff, then pulled himself back under cover quickly. "Damn it. They're outta ammo."

"We don't have much ourselves," Chuck said.

Casey nodded. "Means we gotta get this finished. But if we're low, Shaw and the Ring are probably just as bad off as we are."

"What are we gonna do, then?"

"Diane's gettin' Gertie's men to go along the back side of the house, try an' cut off any moves they make towards the stable. Gonna take some time, though. And we ain't got much of that." Casey glanced out the doorway again.

Chuck swallowed and gripped his rifle tightly. He didn't know what Casey was thinking, but he had a bad feeling about this.

The lull in the action was broken by sudden gunshots from the ranch house. Casey cursed and started firing. Chuck joined him, trying to concentrate and shoot only when he was confident of his aim, in order not to waste ammunition.

Casey's guess that the Ring forces were running low on ammo didn't seem to be accurate with the way they were firing. They were spraying gunfire from several directions, and not just from the house, Chuck thought. He started scanning the landscape, trying to figure out where all the men were.

"Casey! Looks like there's somebody shooting from the stable!" he shouted.

Chuck's shout made Casey crane his neck to get a better look, then he cursed. "You're right-peekin' around the far corner. Gives 'em cover. Bet they're all gonna try and get to the stable and sneak out the back way."

"Where's Miss Gertrude's men?" Chuck said in frustration, firing and missing the man by the stable.

"Can't see 'em. They musta run into some firepower on the back side of the house." Casey grimaced. "We're gonna hafta turn the tables if we don't want Shaw and the rest of 'em to escape."

It wasn't just Casey's words that struck fear into Chuck at that moment; it was his voice, his attitude. He sounded like a man with a plan that pulled out all the stops, without caring about what would happen to him.

Chuck swallowed. "What . . . what are you thinking?"

Casey looked at Chuck, his eyes measuring. "Go out there and draw the fire. Give Gertie's men more time to reach the stable and cut off the escape."

A sudden noise from behind them made Chuck whirl around. "Sarah!"

She smiled at him tightly as she climbed in through the window. "Hi."

"What are you doin' here?" Casey asked gruffly.

"I've been ridin' 'round the perimeter, keepin' an eye out. Miss Gertrude's men are inchin' closer to the house, but they're pinned down under heavy fire."

"Just like I thought," Casey said, looking at her. "So what are you doin' here?"

"Bringin' you ammo, for one," Sarah said, tossing two boxes of bullets to them.

"Thanks," Chuck said, catching the boxes easily. "We're gonna need these."

Sarah nodded. "So what's the plan?"

Casey groaned as he tightened the bandana around his leg. "Think you're gonna butt in, Wildcat?"

"We were just talking about a plan when you arrived, Sarah," Chuck said, intervening in the conversation.

"Yeah? What is it?"

"You're gonna get ammo to your father and the sheriff," Casey said. "We'll handle the rest."

Chuck looked at Casey, wondering why he wanted to get rid of Sarah. His bad feeling got even stronger, but he turned to Sarah. Taking her hand, he took a moment to just enjoy looking at her, at the way her hair was messy and her face was flushed. She looked beautiful, but right now they both had more important things to do. "They're out of ammunition, so they really need your help, Sarah."

She nodded, gazing up at him. She quickly squeezed his hand. "Then I'll go supply 'em. Good luck, fellows."

He smiled at her. "Good luck to you, too."

"Thanks," she said softly. She let go of his hand and went back to the window. "Be careful."

"Sarah Walker, telling me to be careful?" He grinned at her, marveling yet again at how she made life seem a bit brighter, no matter how dark things really were.

She grinned back. "You're rubbin' off on me, Chuck Bartowski."

"Git goin', Walker!" Casey shouted. "I need lover boy over here."

"Go, Sarah," he said, helping her out through the window.

She gave him a quick wave before mounting her horse and riding away.

He watched her go, savoring this moment. Getting a chance to see her was unexpected but wonderful. It gave him a shot of confidence and courage, enough to face what was ahead of him.

"Casey, who's gonna draw their fire?" Chuck asked, crouching down by the older man.

"Me," Casey said.

"No way," Chuck said, shaking his head. "You're already injured, between your hand and your leg. You'd get three shots off if you were lucky."

"You don't got the skill, Bartowski."

"No, I don't," Chuck said, looking at Casey levelly. "But I'm the better person to go out there. I can move faster, and with Mr. Walker and the sheriff getting more ammunition, they can back me up."

Casey shook his head. "You don't wanna do this, Chuck. You're riskin' too much."

Chuck took a deep breath and started reloading his rifle. "I know. But I'd be risking a lot more if I don't do this." He looked at Casey, hoping he understood what Chuck was saying. Casey had been a lot of things to Chuck since they met: a mentor, a protector, a role model, an example of what not to do. Now, it was time for Chuck to take what he had learned and stand on his own feet.

After looking at him, his eyes searching Chuck's face, Casey nodded. "Yeah." He handed Chuck his rifle. "You'll need this."

"Right," Chuck said. He passed Casey his shotgun, then swallowed and started loading the second rifle. "Any advice?"

"Stay low. Don't give 'em much of a target."

"Right," Chuck said. He shoved bullets into his pockets and stood up. He adjusted his hat, tightening the string to just under his chin in order to keep it on his head, then picked up the rifles.

"Good luck, Chuck," Casey said, looking up at him. His voice was a bit choked, like he was holding back on his emotions.

"Thanks," he said, his own voice coming out deeper than normal.

Chuck squared his shoulders, looking outside and preparing for what he was about to do. Then, with a deep breath, he ran out the door of the gatehouse and into the middle of a gunfight.

XXX

The noise was so much louder than he expected. But he couldn't let it slow him down. Chuck barrelled out of the gatehouse, heading for a small valley he had seen about fifteen feet in front of the gatehouse. He ran as fast as he could and threw himself to the ground, keeping the rifles in front of him.

The small dip in the ground was enough to protect him slightly. He pressed down, wiggling a little to deepen the indentation, then pulled one of the rifles up and started shooting. He focused first on the man firing around the corner of the stable. He started shooting at the edge of the building, chipping away pieces of the adobe structure.

One of Chuck's bullets finally blew off a large chunk of hardened mud, hitting the other man in the face. The man cried out and dropped to the ground, and Chuck took a deep breath. One down.

Loud shouts were coming from the ranch house, and Chuck quickly rubbed the sweat out of his eyes as he switched rifles. He fired a few shots, trying to apply some pressure. It was time to end this, no matter the cost towards Chuck.

Suddenly, four men burst out of the ranch house, men that Chuck didn't recognize. They moved along the front porch towards the south end of the house, firing non-stop. When they reached the corner of the house, they crouched down and kept up their attack.

Chuck squinted as he fired at the men. It looked like they were serving as a distraction for some other action. He managed to wing one of the men, who fell to the ground and became a gap in the line. And through that gap, Chuck saw two men climbing out of a window and crouching by the end of the house.

It was Shaw and Bennett. He guessed they were trying to get to the stable and freedom. And Chuck couldn't let that happen.

He braced himself, bringing his knees underneath himself to prepare for a jump to his feet. To his surprise, he saw one of the other defenders grab a wound that appeared on his chest and fall back. Chuck whipped his head around and saw Sarah, firing as she ran towards the stable.

With Sarah backing him up and only two men left, Chuck had no time to lose. He jumped to his feet and tried to fire, but his gun jammed. Tossing down his rifle, he started running. When he got within range, he reached behind himself and threw his knife, burying it in the shoulder of one of the two men remaining.

Sarah ran in front of him, giving him cover. She pointed her rifle at the last defender, who quickly dropped his gun and raised his hands in the air. Chuck leaned down and yanked his knife from the man's shoulder before turning towards Shaw and Bennett.

"Freeze, Shaw!" He held his knife ready, trying not to show his nerves. Sarah had picked up the other man's gun and stood next to him. She trained her rifle on the two men, her eyes narrowed.

Shaw gave him a scathing look, then turned on Bennett. "Don't just stand there, shoot him!"

"I wouldn't advise that, Bennett," said the sheriff, advancing on them, her rifle held firmly in her hands. "'Cause you might be able to shoot Bartowski, but you're not gonna beat both me and the Wildcat."

Chuck took a step back, giving way to the sheriff. Now that Shaw and Bennett were under arrest, he felt the adrenaline leech away, leaving only exhaustion. He'd done it. He'd done his part and helped end the fight, and it was all he could do to keep himself from dropping to the ground. As it was, his hands were shaking as he realized what he'd done.

"Chuck?"

Sarah's voice was soft and gentle. She took his hand, her fingers firm and warm against his. It made his nerves start receding and made the reality sink in for him. He was safe-Sarah was safe-and they had their whole futures ahead of them.

She smiled at him. "Okay?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah." He looked at her, then tugged on her hand to pull her closer to him, leaning in and kissing her softly.

All he wanted was to keep kissing her forever, but a hand clapping him on the back broke the kiss. "Not bad, kid," Casey said, grinning a little.

Chuck licked his lips, feeling embarrassed. He was pretty sure Casey wasn't talking about his shooting. "Thanks, Casey."

Casey nodded and limped over towards Beckman, who was talking to Shaw.

"It's over, Shaw," the sheriff said, still keeping her rifle on him. "If your men throw down their guns, we can settle this peacefully-no more bloodshed."

Shaw snarled. "This isn't over. Not as long as the Ring exists."

"We'll see. Stand down, Shaw," Beckman said, steel in her voice.

Almost faster than could be seen, Ty Bennett drew his gun on the sheriff. Chuck jumped, trying to get his knife up, but Casey was faster than him and everyone else. A gunshot rang out and Ty Bennett dropped to the ground.

Chuck swallowed at the sight of the blood spreading across Bennett's chest. Casey holstered his gun and kept looking at the body of his old master, even as the sound of pounding feet reached them. It was Morgan, Miss Gertrude's men and the Walker brothers, rounding the corner of the house and standing in front of them.

"Sheriff!" Morgan sounded frantic. "Is everythin' okay?"

"Yeah, Grimes," the sheriff called out. "Go get the wagons-we're gonna need to take some people to the grave-digger's."

Chuck could see Morgan trying to collect himself, but he nodded. "Right, Sheriff. Comin' right up." Morgan turned and spoke to the other men, and they started going their separate ways.

The sheriff looked over at Casey. "You a'right?"

Casey, who had been clumsily kneeling by Bennett, looked up at the sheriff and nodded. "Yeah," he said, trying to stand up.

Chuck hurried over and helped him up, getting shoved away by Casey as soon as he was on his feet. "I'm a'right."

"Hell you are," Beckman said. "One of those wagons is gonna take you right to Doc Wood's."

Casey sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Everything else good?"

"Yeah," the sheriff said. "Just gotta get Shaw back to the jail."

"I won't go back," Shaw said, his voice dark.

"Sorry, Shaw, you ain't got a vote here," Beckman said.

"That's what you think."

Before Chuck understood what was happening, Shaw was lunging towards Jack Walker. Sarah lifted her rifle and shot him quickly, sending Shaw to the ground with a bleeding shoulder.

"What-Sarah, what did you do?" he asked in confusion, staring at her.

"He had a knife-he was gonna stab my pop," she said, her voice shaking a little, her body tense.

"He sure was," Mr. Walker said, moving over to Sarah and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Easy there, darlin'."

The sheriff walked over and kicked away a lethal-looking knife. She crouched down by Shaw, looking at his injury. "Nice clean wound. Won't get in the way of you standin' trial-and we can add attempted murder to the list o' charges." She looked up at Sarah and smiled. "Nicely done."

Sarah nodded, still looking dazed. Chuck moved over to her. "Are you all right, Sarah?"

"I-I-I dunno," Sarah said softly, looking up at him. 

"Hey, hey," he said, moving closer to her and touching her arm. "He was going to hurt your father."

She nodded. She looked up at her father, then stepped away from him. "Pop, gimme a minute."

"Well, what's this?" Jack Walker's voice was intrigued. "You wanna explain yourself, darlin'?"

Sarah flushed, looking at a loss for words. Chuck stepped up, reaching out and taking Sarah's hand. "Mr. Walker-"

"I'm talkin' to my daughter right now, Bartowski," Mr. Walker said, looking at Chuck for a moment before returning his gaze to Sarah.

Chuck squeezed Sarah's hand, trying to give her the courage to face her father. He could see her square her shoulders, preparing what she was going to say.

"Pop, I know you think you know what's best for me. But stayin' on the ranch isn't what I want anymore. Not when I've got Chuck."

Mr. Walker arched an eyebrow. "And what exactly does that mean?"

Sarah looked at Chuck, then at her father. "I know you said I won't get much if I leave, but I don't care. I don't care that I'd hafta start over, 'cause I'd have Chuck and we're gonna be a success together."

"That so?" Mr. Walker looked at Chuck. "Is my daughter speakin' the truth, Bartowski?"

"She is, Mr. Walker," Chuck said, not looking away from him. "I couldn't ever find a woman better than Sarah, so I want to spend the rest of my life making her happy."

An uneasy silence fell over them as Mr. Walker looked at Chuck, his eyes sizing him up. Chuck felt like he was being found wanting. Like he couldn't measure up to what Jack Walker wanted for his daughter. Then Casey grunted. "Knock it off, Jack. Like you're gonna stand in their way."

"I'm her father-I gotta make sure she's not makin' a mistake!"

"Pop, it's not up to you," Sarah said quietly, her voice firm. "After all, if you don't approve, you can just hold back what you were gonna give me when I got married."

"Oh, you mean the fifty acres, thirty head of cattle and three hundred and fifty dollars in gold?"

Chuck stared at Mr. Walker. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Sarah looked equally surprised.

Mr. Walker grinned. "You really thought I was serious about the six head of cattle and fifty dollars in gold? You really thought I'd do so poor by my only daughter?"

Sarah blinked, then threw her arms around her father. "Pop!"

"It's what you've earned, darlin'. All those years of workin', you've earned it." Mr. Walker rubbed her back, then stepped out of her arms.

"But why did you say that was all I was gettin'?" Sarah asked, sounding dazed.

"Weed out the men who just wanted the money, of course," Mr. Walker said. "And it worked." He nodded to Chuck.

"Sorry to interrupt the happy occasion," Beckman interrupted, "but Chuck, you're still my deputy, and there's work to be done."

Chuck shook his head and looked around, realizing that one wagon was getting loaded with bodies, while Morgan was waiting by another wagon, Casey sitting in the back.

"Oh! Right. Yes, of course, Sheriff. What do you need?"

"You and Sarah, ride back to town with Morgan and Casey. Take him straight to Doc Wood's, no arguments." Beckman grinned at him. "And congratulations, you two."

He couldn't help smiling. "Thanks, Sheriff."

"You're welcome. Now git," Beckman said, gesturing towards the wagon.

"Getting, Sheriff." He tugged on Sarah's hand and lead her over to the wagon. "How are you feeling, Casey?"

The older man grunted. "I got shot in the leg. But my hand's workin' again, now that I don't need it."

Chuck grinned widely. "Really? That's great news, Casey!"

"Yeah, yeah, get in the wagon so we can get going." Casey sounded grumpy, but there was the smallest upturn to his lips. Like he was happy for Chuck and Sarah.

Sarah hopped up into the wagon, sitting in the bed just behind the wagon seat. Chuck climbed up after her. "Morgan, let's go."

"You got it, Chuck!" Morgan slapped the reins and started the horses on their way back to El Dorado.

"Alejandra and the other servants make it out okay?" Chuck asked Morgan.

"Yep! They got out safe, and we'll see them back in town." Morgan looked over his shoulder at Chuck from his seat on the wagon bench. "So . . . was Casey tellin' me the truth? You and Sarah-you're going to get hitched?"

Chuck looked at Sarah, who smiled at him. He reached out and took her hand. "Yeah, we're gonna get married."

"Well, that's somethin' good to come outta today!" Morgan said, grinning. "Besides takin' down Shaw, of course."

"Yeah," Chuck said softly, looking at Sarah. It was hard to believe that in a few months his life had changed so much. He had closed one chapter and started another, begun a new life that was full of happiness and possibilities. When he had come to El Dorado, he had finally set his sister to rest, five years after her murder. He hadn't known what he was going to do next. And now, he had a job, friends, and a fiancee.

He hadn't expected all this. He hadn't realized that coming to this small town would be where he'd grow up, where he'd figure out what kind of man he wanted to be. When he thought about these twists and turns, it seemed so amazing. Through luck and hard work, he'd made this new life for himself.

And he wasn't going to be alone in this new life. He would have Sarah. He'd have an amazing, smart, strong, absolutely beautiful woman, someone who'd be there in good times and bad. He wouldn't be alone.

Sarah squeezed his hand. "Earth to Chuck. You were a million miles away."

Chuck looked at her and smiled. "No, not a million miles away . . . only fifteen or twenty years. Imagining our future."

"There you go again, bein' sweet." She moved closer to him, a big smile on her face. "I have somethin' to show you."

"Yeah?" he asked, dropping her hand and wrapping an arm around her.

She nodded and drew aside the collar of her shirt, revealing the locket he had given her. "Put it on a chain that was my mother's." She gazed up at him, her eyes soft.

Chuck reached out and softly stroked the chain, his fingers running down to touch the locket. "It looks beautiful on you."

Her cheeks blushed pink, but she smiled up at him. "Thank you."

Casey harrumphed. "Can't believe you tamed the Wildcat, Bartowski."

Chuck laughed and looked at Sarah. "Taming the Wildcat? Why would I want to do that?"

Sarah grinned at him. "Smart man." She leaned in and kissed him softly.

He closed his eyes, savoring this moment. It was the first of many, he knew. A lifetime of moments with his wildcat.

End, Chapter 11


	12. Epilogue: If You Seek for Eldorado!

_Dear Devon,_

_I'm not much of a correspondent, yet it's comforting with all your talents that you're an even worse one. Since I haven't gotten a reply to my last letter, I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. Of course, in all the time I've known you, you've never been in bad spirits, but you know what I mean._

_In my last letter, I wrote to you about a woman I had met named Sarah Walker. Since then, my feelings for Sarah have deepened, and thanks to some quirk of luck, she has also discovered feelings for me._

_I'm proud to announce that Sarah and I were married last week, in a small ceremony in El Dorado. It was a beautiful wedding, with most of the town turning out to enjoy the celebration. My new friend Morgan stood up as my best man, and Sarah was given away by her father. She surprised me by wearing a dress for the ceremony; to be honest, I half-expected her to wear pants to her own wedding! Not that I would have complained about this, since I think she's the most beautiful woman in the world, no matter what she wears._

_Once again, I want to thank you for letting me take Ellie's locket when I left California. Your generosity has always been a quality I've tried to imitate. I have given her locket to Sarah, who wears it on a chain she received from her mother. The woman I love has a memento from the woman who was sister and mother to me: that seems very fitting._

_Sarah's father has been very generous to us, providing us with a large parcel of land and thirty cattle, as well as a gift of gold. I still think El Dorado is the place for me, yet it remains to be seen if we'll settle there permanently. Sarah has always wanted to travel, and with the money from her father (part dowry, part wages for Sarah's years of work for him), we intend to spend the next year on an extended wedding trip._

_Tonight, I write you from the train to New Orleans, which is the first city we will visit on our holiday. Then, we will travel to Chicago, and then-California! And that, Devon, is where you come in. I want nothing more than to introduce my wife to you, the man who is the closest I've ever come to having a brother._

_We will be in New Orleans for a month, and then will head to Chicago. You can write me there, care of the Hyde Park House, 53rd Street. Please write to me, Devon, so we can continue our trip to California with the anticipation of visiting you._

"Chuck?"

"I'm nearly done, Sarah," he said, keeping his head down as he wrote each word carefully. With the jostling of the train, it was difficult to keep his penmanship legible.

His wife-and it was very strange and very wonderful to call Sarah that-sighed softly.

"I promise, give me one more minute-" Chuck glanced at her, an apologetic look on his face, only to freeze.

In the week that they had been married, he had already learned many things about Sarah Bartowski. Her favorite beverage was milk with chocolate stirred into it until the two ingredients melded into a rich, creamy drink. She didn't like mornings, even with all her years of getting up at the dawn. And she had a soft side that she kept hidden from everyone but him.

She also delighted in making him gawp like a fish at her beauty and wit. That was the only explanation for the sight of Sarah in a long white silk nightdress. One that hugged her curves and left her arms completely bare. One with a plunging neckline, revealing the heart-shaped locket resting near the gentle swells of her cleavage.

Her smile was soft, loving, and completely devilish. "Do you like my nightgown?"

Chuck could only nod dumbly. Her smile widened. "Gertrude gave it to me. She said it'd be useful to have somethin' like this when my husband thought he was too busy for me." Her cheeks turned pink when she spoke the word "husband"; they were both still getting used to their new status.

Swallowing, Chuck set down his pen and stood up. "You know I'm never too busy for you."

"Mmm, good answer, Chuck." Sarah sauntered over to him, swinging her hips-how had she figured out such movement turned him to jelly?-and leaned up to kiss him softly.

He sighed against her lips. "Sarah . . ."

She brushed her nose against his. "Come to bed, Chuck. The letter can wait."

"I need to give Devon plenty of time to respond, or else we'll arrive in Chicago and spend weeks needlessly waiting for word about whether he can see us when we visit California . . ." Chuck protested.

Sarah arched an eyebrow at him. "One day's wait on this letter is gonna mean weeks of waitin' for us?"

"It could," he said weakly, something in him not ready to give in to her. Not just yet. Not without making her feel a little of what he was feeling now. This tingling, exciting anticipation of what was to come.

The snicker that Sarah let out was rich with amusement. "Uh-huh." She pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, and sighed heavily and dramatically. "I suppose I'll just hafta find somethin' to do while you finish your letter."

Alarm bells went off in Chuck's head. This could go very badly. "Like . . . what?"

"Oh, I dunno. Maybe put on a robe and go down to that glassed-in observation car. Take in the landscape in the moonlight. Bet that would be real nice."

The challenge in her voice made Chuck smile slowly. That was the last thing she wanted, he knew-and she knew that he knew that. She was baiting him, and he loved it.

Slowly, he leaned down and started kissing along her jaw. "Not that nice. Not when you're all alone." He reached the spot just under her ear, the one that made her melt against him whenever he kissed it. He wasted no time in pressing an open-mouthed kiss to that very spot.

Sarah let out a breathy moan, and her hands reached out to grip his shoulders. "You could come with me . . . it'd be nice an' romantic."

"Mmm, you're right, Mrs. Bartowski," he said, nuzzling her neck.

"Finest words in all of the English language," Sarah murmured, her body swaying against his.

Chuck lifted his head and looked at her with a smile. "'You're right', I guess?"

Sarah shook her head and gazed up at him. "No. 'Mrs. Bartowski'."

He felt a wave of pure, uncontained love for her. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close to him and rested his forehead against hers. "Now who's the one being sweet?"

"You keep findin' ways to rub off on me," Sarah said, her voice a soft whisper, but with a hint of something darker and richer. Hinting at the secret pleasures they had discovered with each other.

A response that was frankly quite dirty and unexpected leaped into his mind. He opened his mouth to risk saying it, then stopped and grinned at her. Sliding his hand into her hair and cupping the back of her head, he kissed her slowly and deeply, letting his body say what he was still a touch too shy to say with words.

As always, Sarah responded with fire, pulling him in against her and wrapping her arms around his neck. She took a step backwards and tugged on him, navigating them both towards the bed without breaking the kiss. He went with her, his free hand sliding up and down her side, feeling the silk move against her skin.

Just as he was ready to lower her to the bed, a staccato knock on the door interrupted them. A brisk, cheerful voice called out, "Mail call! Any letters to be posted at the next station, please. Mail call!"

Sarah looked up at him, her eyes dark blue pools. "Don't you wanna make mail call, Chuck?" she asked softly, her fingers playing with the curls on the back of his neck.

He gazed at her, marveling yet again at this beautiful, strong, amazing woman. The woman that he had in his arms, the woman who seemed so thrilled to be there. Nothing else could match her appeal. It was time to show her that, once again.

"Waiting a day won't hurt," he said before he kissed her slowly. She held him tightly as she responded, her mouth warm and soft against his. Gently, he lowered them both to the bed, his hands starting to roam over her body.

She broke away with a gasp, taking a deep breath. "You sure 'bout that? Just imagine all that waitin' in Chicago . . ."

"We'll find something to do," he said, grinning at her.

Sarah let out a soft, tiny giggle as she flushed. No one would ever believe that the Wildcat giggled like a schoolgirl. But Chuck knew that she did, and he knew he could make that happen. But her giggle didn't compare to other sounds she could make, so Chuck decided to forget about the letter for now and focus on eliciting each of the wonderful noises he knew could be drawn from his wife.

XXX

_If you couldn't guess by the change in my handwriting, Devon, I had to interrupt this letter mid-stream. This interruption has only hardened my resolve to see you again. It's been too long since we saw each other or had any real contact. I don't know whether the distance between us is because of my pursuit of Ellie's killers, but I'd like us to resolve whatever has created this lack of communication between us._

_And I want you to meet my wife and see how wonderful she is. If nothing else, I want you to be able to gloat over how right you were, when you used to speak about how someday I'd meet the right woman and everything I found so distasteful when it was you courting Ellie would suddenly become very interesting._

_Please respond as quickly as you're able, Devon. I look forward to your reply._

_With great affection, I remain_

_Your almost-brother, Charles Bartowski_

Chuck finished the letter with a flourish and wrapped it in another sheet of paper as its envelope. He carefully wrote Devon's address on the front and sealed the envelope with a blob of sealing wax, before setting the letter down carefully on the desk.

Turning in his chair, he looked over towards the bed, its sheets tumbled and dragging onto the floor. Sarah was spread out across it, the soft gas light flickering over her skin. Smiling slowly, Chuck stood and walked over to the bed, carefully shifting her body to allow him to slide back into the bed. He lightly kissed the back of her neck, drawing her close to him.

"Mmmm . . ." she murmured softly.

"Go back to sleep, Sarah," he whispered, cuddling her.

She relaxed against him, her body softening as she slipped back into her slumber. Chuck smiled and closed his eyes, resting his face against her hair.

They had their whole lives ahead of them, but for now, life was this bed. He couldn't think of a better place to be than right here.

Lulled by the gentle rocking of the train, Chuck let himself drift off to sleep, looking forward to what happy dreams he might have. Dreams that all centered about his wildcat, his wife, his Sarah.

End.


End file.
